DragonAge: The Halla Reborn
by Eva Galana
Summary: A young elven craftswoman, friend of the queen, respected member of the Elven community.  A nobleman's obsession causes her carefully planned future to take a different path.  To unite a nation against the odds and stop the Blight.
1. Chapter 1

_Summary: Different take on the City Elf origin: A young elven craftswoman, friend of the queen, respected member of the Elven community. A nobleman's obsession with her causes her carefully planned future to take a different path. M for adult themes, language, violence, and sexual content_

_I own nothing save for Adela (well, and maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 1 - Two years before origins event_

A quick, precise movement of the pen knife, and the offending sliver flaked off the ivory form. Long, dexterous fingers lovingly smoothed the intricately carved surface before placing the small figure of a halla into the box with several other similar figures. 'Ah, the Queen will like these,' the young elven woman thought, a pleased smile forming upon her lips. Brushing back a stray blonde lock and neatly tucking it behind one delicate, pointed ear, she turned to another halla figurine. This one was far more intricately carved in a more stylized design, representing a form similar to ancient elven works of art. The horns were longer and more curved than the other figures, it's tale swooping upwards and over its back. Other curling carvings embellished the surface of the figure itself. Picking it up, impossibly blue eyes scrutinized its shape, alert for any imperfections. Satisfied, she placed the figure in the box with its less intricate brethren, placed a cover over the top, and picked it up under one arm.

An older elven man looked up from his work bench, holding in his hands the wooden beginnings of a toy soldier. Smiling at the girl, offering a slight nod, Cyrion Tabris went back to his work. There were many other orders for the pair of skilled artists to fulfill, but Cyrion knew well that his daughter was anxious to get the figurines to the palace.

"I am certain the Queen, and most importantly Lord Alaric's daughter, will be most pleased with your works, my daughter," he replied as his gaze shifted back to the partially formed toy in his hands.

Adela smiled softly at her father, turning slightly to place a quick kiss on his cheek. "I am certain Anora will like them well enough." Despite her confident words, a finger tapped anxiously on the box.

"Ah, now child," Cyrion's hands continued to work the wood even as his eyes left it to seek out his daughter's face, "your apprenticeship ended and now you are worried your first complete order will be less than acceptable?"

Adela grinned. "At least my first order is for Anora," she turned toward the door, one slender hand on the handle, "she always likes my work."

Cyrion laughed. "Of course she does. She has good taste."

With a nod, Adela turned the handle and left the tiny workshop, stepping out into the Denerim Alienage that had been her home for her entire life.

Dirty, squalid, poverty ridden…the Alienage was thus to those who did not understand that there was so much more to it than what was seen by the eyes of those fortunate - or less fortunate - not to live in one. Yes, these conditions did, indeed, exist for the elves that lived there. As in all of Fereldan's cities, the elves were segregated away from human citizens, called upon mostly as laborers or servants, and thought of as less than, well, human. But for many who lived within the Alienage, they knew that there was also closeness, family, a shared history that, although the human populations throughout Thedas had tried to wipe completely clean, still existed. Nothing - not slavery, war, famine, pestilence, not even an Exalted March itself - could take away the pride elves felt for their history. Gone though it may be, never to be recovered, mostly forgotten, it still had existed, had _been_. And, for those like the craftsman Cyrion and his equally talented daughter, that was enough.

And so, always feeling pride in her Alienage, Adela stepped out into the rubbish strewn walkway and made her way to the high gate that cordoned off the Alienage from the rest of Denerim. And, with a slight nod of her blonde head to the guard at the gate, the young elven woman walked through the market place and toward the section of the city where the nobles - including the Arl of Denerim - lived.

Adela always disliked going through this part of the city. She always felt she was being closely scrutinized, either by those looking for an elf to be the "cause" of some trouble or some lecherous noble looking for some "company". While Adela herself had never been accosted, she still was fully aware that such could happen. And so, she always made certain to leave her knives back at the workshop or home as elves were not allowed weapons of any kind and to be caught with a weapon meant imprisonment or worse. She always kept her eyes straight ahead, on course, and did not make eye contact with any of the denizens of this particular quarter.

She was thusly fully unaware of the pair of cold emerald green eyes that followed her every move as she passed the Arl's estate. Fully unaware that these same eyes always sought her out and watched her either in the marketplace or as she passed by the mansion on her way to the palace.

DA:O

Thurlow scowled out from his post in front of the Royal Palace. He hated guard duty. Not only did his feet ache, but it was Maker awful boring. Brown eyes scoured the area beyond the gates. Wait, what was this? A familiar feminine figure was walking up to the gates. Was it…? Yes, it was. A smile forming on his rugged features, Thurlow stood straight, offering a slight bow to the slender elven woman who walked purposefully toward him. Thurlow watched as the thoughtful, carefully guarded expression upon her lovely face fell and her expression lit up upon sight of him. Thurlow, like others who guarded the front gates, were always polite and friendly to the young elven lass. To do otherwise (as some of Thurlow's fellow guards had the misfortune to learn) would be to invite, at best censure, at worse expulsion. Everyone knew that the elven craftswoman was considered a friend to the queen and though many could not understand the peculiarity of the friendship, none had been foolish enough to test it since the first few times she visited the palace. Adela graced the guard with a wider smile, a slight bow of her head, and a wink as she passed by and into the courtyard.

The butler met Adela at the door, bowing before her as he sent a maid off to alert the queen to the elven woman's arrival. Adela took the opportunity to glance around the huge foyer, its walls lined with comfortable chairs, a huge staircase curving upwards along the furthest wall. Adela smirked slightly at the opulence of the room, imagining how luxurious the other rooms of the palace must be if such expense went into the entryway of the castle. She did not notice as a handsome human man, golden hair swept back from his face with two braids, dressed in expensive doublet and hose, made his way down the stairs, a happy grin spreading across his face upon sight of the girl.

"Adela!" the man cried as he hurried to her side.

Quickly and with the grace inbred to her race, Adela dropped into a low, floor sweeping curtsey. The man laughed at her as he pulled her up. "No, no, none of that! You are practically family!" he laughed again. "Can you picture Loghain bowing to me?"

Adela allowed a slightly scandalized expression to cross her face. "I certainly hope you are not comparing my irregular visits to the palace on par with Loghain's near residence here?"

"Ha! Of course not! Although," and he bent down slightly, a conspirator tone gracing his elegant voice, "I believe Anora would agree that your company is far more pleasant."

His grin and good humor was infectious. Adela knew how loved Cailan was by the subjects of Fereldan, and with his easy manners and quick wit, it was easy to see why. Unlike many other girls, however, Adela was nearly - but not completely - immune to his good looks. Not that she didn't find him attractive. She just never allowed her thoughts to venture beyond the thought that he was attractive. He was married and, regardless of what rumors may say, she was fairly certain he was devoted to his wife.

"Adela," a smooth, cultured feminine voice called from one of the alcoves, "I had not been aware of your arrival." Anora, queen of Fereldan, glided across the porcelain tiles of the foyer, her father, Loghain Mac Tir, Hero of River Dane, followed, a slight scowl (Adela believed it was always there) on his stern features. Again, Adela dropped into a graceful curtsy, ignoring Cailan's sniggers behind her as well as the slightly disapproving look that shone in Anora's clear blue eyes.

"Adela, I'm certain my husband has already said that this is not necessary," Anora scolded as she stopped before the smaller elven woman, a smile forming on her perfect lips. "You are a friend and a guest…"

Shaking her head, Adela replied, "And you are the queen of Fereldan and need to expect that, even a friend and guest must show proper respect for one's betters." Grinning at the small lines forming between Anora's brows, Adela held up the box. "And, I bear gifts."

With a happy gasp, Anora took the box from Adela's hands, and led Adela to the small room off the foyer where she and her father had been moments before, Loghain and Cailan following closely behind.

While Anora and Cailan inspected the figurines, Adela looked around the room, taking in the books - Books! - that lined the walls as well as the comfortable furnishings. She presumed this was a study, perhaps a waiting room for visitors awaiting announcement into the palace. She had never had to wait long before being called into either Anora or Cailan's presence whenever she arrived at the palace - whether she was bearing crafts ordered by the palace or just for a visit. Shrugging, she turned her gaze from the books and noticed Loghain watching her. Raising her right eyebrow, she met his openly frank expression with one of her own. A slight quirk of the corners of his mouth was the only response to her scrutiny, and then he, too, went over to inspect her work. Sighing with relief, she turned her gaze once again to the books, trying to hide her nervousness as the nobles examined her work.

Anora had pulled out the six matching hallas, leaving the odd one - Adela's pride and joy - still in the box. Turning with the figurines in hand, Anora caught Adela's attention. "These are exquisite, Adela," there was an almost breathless quality to Anora's soft voice. "I am simply in awe of the quality of the work. Your father is extremely talented."

A blush forming pink on her cheeks, the young elven woman responded, "Those are my work, Anora. I carved them."

Three pair of eyes turned to her. The blush deepened. "It looks like there is talent in the Tabris line," Cailan chuckled, openly admiring the young girl. Loghain's expression was more thoughtful, and then his eyes turned to the lone halla left in the box. He picked it up, examining it, noting the difference between it and the other six.

Anora turned, placing the six back in the box. "I will call for the seneschal and arrange for payment of these," she smiled as she passed by Adela, placing a cool hand on her arm as Adela opened her mouth to protest. "They are lovely, and you will be paid for these." and with a look to her husband, left the room. Cailan offered a slight grin and followed his wife.

Adela fidgeted slightly. She had never been left in a room alone with Loghain. She admitted, the man made her nervous. He was always watching, scrutinizing, taking everything in with very little word. Yes, she could meet his gaze, when she felt fortified by knowing friends - particularly Anora - was present. But now? She was just nervous. And, to try and cover up her nervousness, she moved closer to the books and pretended to examine them with care.

She nearly jumped when she heard his voice. "This one is done in a different style," he observed in a dry voice.

Turning her attention to the Teryn, she replied, with a slight quiver in her voice, "Ahm, yes. Well, I had found a book depicting ancient elven artworks. I copied it and decided to include it with the others. I knew Anora wouldn't want to give an odd set, but I thought she may like it nonetheless." She smiled as her eyes went to the small figure held in his large hands. _Her work of art_. She was quite pleased by it, and had wanted Anora to have it.

Anora returned, followed closely by the seneschal, a smallish man, balding and with a perpetual scowl on his face (far more severe than even Loghain's, Adela thought). As Adela turned her attention back to the queen and seneschal, Loghain's eyes went back to the ivory figure in his hands. Glancing at the elven woman's back, he pocketed the figure, and, with a bow to his daughter, left the room.


	2. Chapter 2

_Okay, okay, here's the bladdy, blah, blah: I own nothing save for Adela (well and maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_This is a flashback story. I am taking great liberties and going off canon - both from the game and the books. I'm certain David Gaider would forgive me (well, I hope so)…_

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 2 - One Week Before Origins Event_

Night was falling, and Adela found herself just leaving the palace to return home after a visit with Anora. The queen had heard of Adela's betrothal and had insisted upon having the younger woman over for a celebratory tea, which was actually a nice reprieve when compared to what she knew her cousin and friends had planned for her (she almost shudders at the thought). While Adela appreciated Anora's generosity, she had been more than a little uncomfortable with having been waited upon by the palace's elven servants, some of whom she knew from the Alienage. Shifting with her discomfort, she had been glad when she and Anora had been left alone, to gossip (as young women will), tell childhood tales (they did not share much in common, but it was interesting to swap tales nonetheless), or express (on Adela's part) trepidation regarding wedding night obligations. This conversation had the elven woman blushing profusely, while Anora tried to give her best regal advice. At one point, they were both laughing so hard one of the servants poked her head in, as it was rare that the queen would be caught so unguarded.

Now, her arms laden with small gifts, Adela wished she had taken Anora's offer of having one of the guards escort her back to the Alienage (she had seen Thurlow waiting at the door, willing to take the trek across the city to do so), but Adela had waved away the offer, saying she didn't want to take someone from their scheduled duties, and had left the palace without another word on the subject.

The journey through the noble section was relatively uneventful. She had noticed several noblemen entering the Arl's estate, one or two stopping to watch the lovely elven woman pass by. A sharp word from inside the doorway and the noblemen continued inward without a second glance back. Adela exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding and continued on.

She continued her walk, her unease growing. There was nothing threatening, no one about that should or would cause her disquiet. No, at this time, it was memories that assailed her, memories she had believed to be so far into her past as to not be able to affect her now. She continued her walk homeward, the events of nine years before clouding her mind, yet her eyes kept sharp for any threat that may come. This time she returns home safely, the guard at the Alienage gave offering her a small smile as she passes through. She smiled back, glancing upwards toward her home, knowing that in just a few days' time, she will be meeting with the stranger who will be her husband and the house she grew up in will no longer be her home.

_The two elves walked quietly through the main gates of the city. The elder, a beautiful woman with sunny blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and an intricate tattoo surrounding one eye, pulled her young daughter closer to her side as they continued through. Whispering words of encouragement in an ancient elven tongue, she encouraged her child as they continued on, through back streets, towards the marketplace. They had been out of the city longer than anticipated, Adaia determined to continue teaching her child the use of bow and blade, regardless of the shemlen's foolish rules that no elf bear weapons. She scoffed at their rules. Had she not been proficient with her own bow during the shemlens' own rebellion against the Orlesians, many would have died - including their king. She shook her head at the old memories and promises forgotten. Glancing down at her daughter, she did not regret not returning to her clan, instead remaining when she had met and fell in love with a skillful craftsman from Denerim Alienage. Still, she trusted no blade but her own, and wished fervently that things had indeed improved for the elves as had been promised. But, even promises from a king as good and kind hearted as Maric could not always be met, and so Adaia continued to teach her daughter in secret, and protect those of the Alienage as best as she could. She knew, as did many of the city guard and the elves themselves that she was all that stood between the elves being safe or being victims to the local shems' whims._

_Adaia Mahariel Tabris pulled her daughter to a stop. Tilting her head, her sharp ears easily picked up the sound of feet scuffling upon stone ground, kicking small pebbles. Not much of an attempt at silence, she mused. Foolish shems. She turned, seeking the source, and realized that the sounds came from several places surrounding her and her daughter. Perhaps not so foolish, she amended. She reached under her cloak to the daggers she had sheathed there. True, she was well aware of the law against elves having weapons. But, it was a foolish law; one the proud Dalish hunter had little desire of obeying. She pushed her daughter forward, increasing their pace. She'd rather avoid a fight, especially with Adela so young, so inexperienced. _

_It was obvious that Adaia's desire to avoid a fight was not shared by those who stalked them. As she neared the center of the street, four men stepped from the shadows. Frowning, Adaia pulled Adela to a halt, cocking her head again, certain there were more about. Perhaps just watchers, she thought. And none would come to the aid of a couple of knife-ears, she realized bitterly._

"_Well, well, well," one of the men stepped boldly forward, a lecherous grin on his face. "What do we have here? Coupla knife-ears." The other men, emboldened by their leader's initial confrontation, chuckled lewdly. The leader stepped closer, his grey eyes scanning Adaia's face and form with appreciation. "Come now, girly. How's about a roll?"_

_Adaia's face remained passive, yet fury roared within. How dare they? She pulled her daughter closer and to the side of her, allowing her hands to be free should she need to unsheathe her weapons. The rowdies' leader, unaware that a skilled Dalish warrior stood before him, stepped even closer. "Ah, yer brat can join the fun, too." He moved a hand toward Adaia's face, and she slapped it away, glaring menacingly at the much larger human male who stood before her. Still, only four men stood blocking her path. The others she sensed in the shadows were either bystanders or others waiting to block her path back. Either way, she'd get no help from them._

_Anger crossed the harsh face before her. "Stupid knife-ear whore," he grunted at her, his hand going back and delivering a sharp backhanded blow to her face. "Learn your place!" The blow connected, staggering her slightly. Had she not assumed a battle stance, she would have been knocked from her feet by the strength behind the blow. The others advanced, and in one swift motion, she pulled her twin daggers taking a defensive stance over her daughter, who had remained quiet and calm, following her mother's previous instructions to the letter: If we encounter trouble, remain beside me; when an opportunity presents itself, run and do not look back. Adela remained at her mother's side, her eyes scanning for an exit. She felt her mother shove her away as Adaia moved forward to meet the oncoming men, they, too, armed with knifes and swords. Adela saw her chance, sprang away, and melted into the shadows. None of her mother's adversaries noticed._

_Adela watched the battle from the shadows, unable to leave as the others who hid in the shadows surged forth, shouting their anger at the elf that dared draw a weapon against the humans. She watched as her mother spun and dipped, adroitly missing one clumsy swipe of a sword, spinning behind her attacker and quickly stabbing forth, into his back. He straightened in shock, and then slipped from her blade, blood surging forth from the wound as he slumped to the ground. A cry of outrage could be heard, and Adaia was swarmed from all sides by angered humans, intent upon murder of the mother defending her child. _

_Adela cried out as a child of barely ten summers would. Her own training forgotten, she stepped from the shadows, almost rushed to the scene, when her arm was caught and held tightly. She looked upon into the stern face of a raven haired human man. His noble countenance held barely retained fury as he pulled the girl aside. Then, with a commanding voice, he ordered the guardsmen with him forward. She watched as the armed guards hacked down those who had attacked her mother. Then, as the crowd fell away, Adela could see the bloody form of her mother - her proud, beautiful mother - lying motionless on the ground, the bodies of her four initial assailants lying not far from her. A sob escaped her lips, and she ran forward, not noticing that the man who had ordered the guards forward had followed closely behind. The child did not recognize her mother beneath the blood, and her sobs became wretched as she screamed out to the Maker and the Dalish gods, the Creators, to bring her mamae back. The man knelt beside her, gently pulling her away. Then, with tenderness and care he lifted Adaia's body from the cold, bloody ground, looked down at the child, startling blue eyes meeting paler blues, and walked away._

_Adela followed, unsure where they were heading, but she knew it was away from the Alienage. Was he going to put her in prison? She had wondered fearfully. Then she saw it - the palace. Why here? Oh no…she was certain she'd be thrown into the dungeons. Panic erupted throughout her small body, but, she couldn't force herself to run away, to leave her mother with this unknown man. _

_The guards at the front gate gasped when they saw the tall man enter with the bloody figure of the elven woman in his arms. The front doors were immediately opened to allow him, his burden and the child following after him egress. The scowl deepened upon his face and he trudged through the palace, passed startled servants and appalled nobles as he pushed his way into the main chamber where an important meeting - the Landsmeet - was being held. A heated discussion was silenced as he stepped in. The king, heavy crown on his head, an almost bored expression upon his face, looked over and then stood up, boredom giving way to disbelief, then to anger and sorrow as the newcomer continued toward the throne, his burden feeling so very heavy in his strong arms. Maric slowly walked down the dais to stand before the man. He glanced down to see the small girl standing in the taller man's shadow, and a look of recognition and pain crossed the king's handsome face. _

"_Loghain, what has happened?" Maric asked, feeling foolish in the question. _

_Loghain, never taking his eyes from the face of the woman in his arms, shook his head before replying, "We should never have let her remain in Denerim," he replied, looking up into Maric's face. He then continued. "Not if we had no intention of honoring our promise to her." With that, Loghain turned around, and, with his guardsmen still behind him, one of whom had taken Adela's small hand in his, made the long walk to the Alienage, where the elves' heroine could be laid to rest._


	3. Chapter 3

_Okay, okay, here is the usual disclaimer: I own nothing save for Adela (well and maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_As stated before, I'm not going canon with the game or the books - just a slight twist to make things fit to my story. This chapter is far too long, I know. But, I just had to type it._

_And, thanks for the first reviews I've received! Zeeji, Biff McLaughlin, sandradee27, zevgirl, lisakodysam. They help keep me going knowing that some of you find it interesting._

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 3_

Raising a smooth, long fingered hand to brush away an errant lock, Adela pulled her knees up, resting her chin upon them. Shianni had planned and pulled off a gathering of all of their female friends as a celebration to Adela's last day as a child. The young elf blushed as she tried not to think of the advice her most experienced friends offered for the wedding night. They were far more livid and detailed than the discussion she and Anora had shared a few nights prior.

Adela allowed a small frown to cross her lovely features. Why did Shianni invite Elva? She hated Adela. Oh, sure…she knew she and Shianni were drinking friends, but to invite her to Adela's celebration. The older elven woman, bitter from her own sorry union, sneered and insulted the bride-to-be at any opportunity. She took great pleasure in reminding all in attendance that the quality of Shianni's party could not compare to the gathering she must have had at the palace. Adela snorted indelicately. She was well aware that some in the Alienage - though hardly all, or even a majority - resented her friendship with the royals. They were like Elva - bitter, unhappy people who looked to others to blame for their miserable existence. Adela, and most others from the Alienage, knew well that her friendship with Cailan and Anora stemmed from a shared history - her mother had known the king, had fought by his side, as well as Queen Rowan and General Loghain's, during the rebellion. Upon Adaia's death, King Maric had taken to commissioning artwork from her father, prompting regular visits to the palace. Moreover, although Cailan was several years older than the Tabris girl was, he had taken to her quickly, chasing her in games of tag in the gardens or touring the palace. It was through Cailan she had met Anora, who had been quiet and, at first, disapproving of the friendship between the elven child and her betrothed. However, Adela's easygoing nature and direct honesty won the young woman over, and Anora found herself captivated by the child. Cailan and Anora had continued to commission much of their artwork from the Tabris family, and it was their patronage of the elven artist that had led to other nobles and notables to commissioning works of their own. Cyrion's renown as a skillful sculpture had grown, and their pockets were lined with enough money to keep a house of their own, one large enough to accommodate Cyrion, Adela and her two cousins, as well as afford a separate workshop and store front, with entrances into both the Alienage and Market Place. Hard work had earned their place. Years of understanding and an open honesty that neither of the current majesties could experience from their peers had created the friendship. Yet, there would always be those few who felt they were entitled, regardless of the effort they put into their lives.

A long, sad, loud sigh escaped her lips. It was that very same wealth that allowed her father to offer a dowry for Adela's intended husband. A man she had yet to meet. Word had arrived that he was within days of the Alienage, and they were to wed upon his arrival. Nelaros from the Highever Alienage. Apparently, he was from a good family, artisans and craftsmen such as her own. Nelaros was a blacksmith, who not only worked the more practical works of horseshoes, nails, and other such, but also was also known as creating works of art using iron and other metals. _At least we will have something in common,_ she thought, trying to cheer herself up. She admitted to herself, it really wasn't working. She glanced up at the night's sky, stars twinkling overhead. The idea of tying herself to someone she had never met, simply so that she would no longer be considered a child. The idea did not sit well with her.

Slowly, she unfolded herself, and climbed down from the rooftop. Despite the fact that her party still went on, the young woman went into her home, shut the door to her room, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

"Cousin? Wake up, sleepy head!" a small, soft hand gently nudged her shoulder. "Time to wake up!"

A soft moan escaped her lips and she opened her eyes. Her room was bathed in gentle sunlight. Twisting her head, she spied her cousin, Shianni, leaning over her, a soft smile on her pretty features. "Shianni?" Adela sat up, brushing her unruly hair from her face. "Oh, it's morning! I…"

"Overslept?" Shianni chuckled. "Well, yes, you did. But, Uncle figured you deserved it. Even if you did leave your own party early!" With a playful swat to her arm, Shianni set herself down beside her cousin.

Adela looked askance at her cousin. "What's up?" She asked, knowing full well something was up, and she the feeling in the pit of her stomach assured her she knew exactly what was.

With a great smirk upon her face, Shianni confirmed, "Your betrothed, Nelaros. He's arrived!"

Silence. Adela knew her intended was within days of the Alienage, but he arrived even sooner than expected. While she knew she could not put it off, she had hoped for a day or two. She shook her head, rising from her bed. "He's early." Nothing like stating the obvious.

Shianni thought so, too. "Nothing gets by you," she laughed, standing up to grab her reluctant cousin by the hands and spinning her about. "Oh, but I caught a glimpse of him, Cousin," she winked suggestively, "and he's _handsome_!"

Feeling a bit defiant, Adela grumbled, "Well, at least Father didn't buy me an ugly stranger to wed."

Her cousin only laughed at the blonde elf's unusual surliness. "Come now! You didn't drink nearly enough last night to be so…"

"Honest? Understandably upset? Reluctant? Take your pick."

"Oh, but weddings are so…wonderful," a sigh escaped Adela's cousin's lips. "You are so lucky!"

Adela snorted in a way that would have made Anora cringed. "Then maybe you should marry him!"

Giggling, Shianni let go of her cousin's hands. "Trust me, Adela. If I thought I could get away with it, I certainly would!" Smirking at Adela's groan, Shianni stepped closer. "Come now, Cousin. You knew this day was coming. What do you think all the parties were for?"

Still in her rare moment of pique, Adela threw a retort, "An excuse for you to drink?"

"Phwt! Since when do I need an excuse?" Responded quickly and with great humor. The woman knew her weakness, and so was not insulted by her cousin's slur. She was a Tabris, and so accepted it. "Soris' bride arrived last night. He's sweating like a human! "The girl giggled at her elder brother's expense. Then, with a sigh, "Now, I have to get my dress from Nola. Your mother's dress is hanging up in your closet." Shianni turned from her cousin, and then glanced back over her shoulder. "Adela, it's supposed to be a happy day. Enjoy it." And, with those words, she walked out in search of her dress.

Alone, Adela strove to shake off her melancholy. Yes, she knew this day would arrive. Moreover, she knew she could not - would not - fight against tradition. It was too important. To important to her family, to her community, to the way elves sought to hold onto their old ways. Learn a trade or skill, marry to become an adult, give birth to many elven babies, and continue the cycle. Someday, she hoped, the elves would find more of their ways…she shook her head. The thought of wearing her mother's wedding dress caused thoughts of her mother - not just how she looked, or smelled, but thought - storming to mind. Would her mother be pleased for this day? Or would she rage against it? Stepping to her closet, she pulled the cream-colored dress from its hanger. Holding it against her, she stepped in front of her mirror. With her yellow blonde hair and blue-blue eyes, Adela knew she was near the spitting image of her mother. Smaller in stature, true. She remembered her mother as being taller than many of the men it the Alienage, whereas Adela was smaller than most women were. Her mother's dress had been altered to accommodate her smaller waist, chest and hips, and shortened - slightly - to just above her ankles. Removing her night shift, she changed her underclothes, and then pulled the lovely dress over her head. Smoothing out non-existent wrinkles, Adela smiled. She truly hoped her mother would be pleased for this day. After quickly brushing her hair, taming the waves and curls into an organized halo about her face, she stepped from the room and into the main area, where her father sat at the table, a thoughtful expression upon his face. He looked up and gasped at the sight of his daughter. Rising slowly, he stepped over to her, gazing down into her blue eyes.

"You look just like your mother did on our wedding day," he breathed, caught up in his memories of the woman he had loved since the first time he had seen her - fierce in her Dalish armor, a bow strapped across her back, daggers bared as she escorted the returned king into his city, through the marketplace and toward the palace. He shook himself from his revelries and noted that Adela smiled, though it did not quite touch her usually expressive eyes.

"I know you are not happy about this," he began, "but…"

Adela nodded, taking her father's hands in her own. "I may not be happy about it, but I understand my duty and place." She smiled truly then. "I just hope mother would approve."

Cyrion frowned just slightly. "It was hard to tell with your mother. But, I think mostly she'd want you to be happy." His expression turned serious. "Nelaros is from a good family, my girl. And I have heard very good things about him as well." When Adela merely nodded, he sighed. "You should probably go in search of Soris as well. His bride arrived last night, so we'll be having a double wedding." With a nod of obedience, and a quick kiss to her father's cheek, Adela left her home in search of her wayward cousin.

It did not take Adela long to locate her cousin. Soris, his red hair shining in the sunshine, his handsome face thoughtful, leaned against one of the piers holding up a decrepit porch. "Well, hello cousin," he greeted, his face brightening instantly as his favorite (and only) cousin stepped into the light before him, "Come to share one last moment of freedom before we jump off the pier?"

Giggling, Adela slid her arm through Soris', giving him a gentle shake. "Come on, Soris. Maybe it's not too late to run!"

"Ha!" There was no mirth in his tone, "And just where, dear cousin, would we run? To the Dalish?" His tone more than spoke sarcasm.

"Well, why not?" Adela stepped away, looking up into Soris' brown eyes. "Mamae was Dalish. Perhaps we could find her tribe…"

However, Soris was just shaking his head, immediately dismissing the idea, "Nope. We'll get lost. Or worst. And, I've no desire to find out what that 'worst' would be." He sighs. "Besides, why would you run? From what I've seen, your intended is a dream come true. Mine sounds like a dying mouse!"

False sympathy 'tsking' from her lips, Adela quipped, "I doubt she's that bad, Soris."

"Yeah, well, I suppose we should go and meet our fellow victims, eh?" With that, Soris grabbed Adela's hand, placing it on his arm, and all but dragged her to where their future spouses, and various wedding party members, waited.

Each step proved more difficult for Adela as they neared the small group standing under the platform where the ceremony would take place. Flowers and garlands decorated the stage as well as the Vhenadahl, the Tree of the People, and various surrounding porches and decks. Adela did smile at the effort her friends had put into making the setting as lovely as possible. She stopped, taking a deep breath. Soris stopped by her side, watching as his cousin composed herself, preparing herself for this next step in her life. Soris would never - ever - tell her this, but he had always looked up to her. She was always capable, always the one everyone turned to help settle a dispute or to simply lend a helping hand. Her community was very important to her. He knew the circumstances surrounding Adaia's death, and he had always felt that Adela had taken up her mantle, though with words and simple actions rather than bow and blade. In many ways, she was his hero. And he would never let her in on that fact. Therefore, he stood by her side, watching her compose herself. She glanced at him, a small smile turning up the corners of her lips. Then, with a slight tilt of her head, her eyes brightened, her smile widened, and she gripped her cousin's strong arm, pulling him toward the wedding party. A chuckle escaped Soris' lips as he stumbled along beside his cousin.

Shianni stood with Nola and several other women from the Alienage. He spotted Nelaros and Velora - his bride - standing slightly apart. Nola touched Shianni's arm and pointed toward the approaching groom and bride. Smiling broadly, both women raised hands in greeting as Shianni stepped forward toward her family.

Another party joined the group - this one composed of three human men. One man reached out and took hold of Nola's arm, pulling her forcefully into and against him as a hand reached over and around her waist. Nola screamed out a sharp "No! Let go of me!" as one of the elven men - Toran - stepped forward to pull her from the human's grasp. "Please, milords! This is a wedding!" the youth cried as he pulled Nola away. The human scowled deeply, striking the young man across the face, felling him easily. "Watch it, knife-ears! Or you'll feel much the same," he growled at the fallen man.

"Gentlemen, please, please…" the leader of the pack, a handsome young man with red hair and green eyes, almost purred. "This is a party." He leered openly at the women of the wedding party. "Grab a whore and have some fun!" His compatriots chuckled, one approaching Shianni, taking hold of her by the shoulders. The feisty redhead struggled, shrugging his hands off "Get off me, you son of a pig…"

"Now, now…' the redhead growled, "none of that. We're just here for some fun."

During this exchange, Adela and Soris had approached. Soris reached over, grabbing hold of Adela's arm. "Cousin, let's not get involved," he murmured, fear creeping into his voice.

Adela shot her cousin a sharp glance. "Don't get involved?" she breathed, incredulity in her voice. "How can we not be? That's Shianni and our friends. We cannot allow them to hurt anyone!"

Soris let out a frustrated sigh. He did not like where this was heading. "Fine, fine. But, let's try and be diplomatic about it," he responded, immediately wanting to kick himself. Telling Adela to be diplomatic? The girl was nothing if not diplomatic.

Adela was thinking along the same lines, judging from the hard, level look she bestowed upon her quivering cousin. She turned toward the others, and it was then the ringleader of the humans noticed her. His eyes - cold and hard as emeralds - brightened and softened just a bit, and the harsh lines around his eyes and mouth eased just a bit as he stepped toward the lovely elven woman.

"Ah, and what have we here?" he quipped, his voice softer as he spoke to Adela. A brief look of confusion crossed Adela's face as she took note of the change in demeanor. The redhead reached over and took the young woman's hand, bringing it up to his lips. "Such a lovely one," he murmured, kissing her hand. Behind him, his friends laughed.

Finding her voice, Adela replied, trying to keep her voice steady and free of fear, "Please, my lord. Perhaps you could take your party elsewhere. We are preparing for celebrations here…"

"You've a lot of nerve, knife-ears!" one of the others shouted at Adela. Nevertheless, the redhead merely shook his head, the smile never leaving his face. "Ah…but we, too, are preparing for celebrations," he bent down, his face mere inches from Adela's, "and you, my lovely one, are most certainly invited."

Adela was shaking her head at the tall man, trying to maintain a calm she knew the others needed her to. "But, my lord, we will not be able to accept such an invitation. Perhaps another time?"

The redhead chuckled, shaking his handsome head in the negative. "I do apologize, dear one, but our…my celebrations simply cannot wait for yours to conclude," he leaned closer, "I have watched you far too long to deny myself the…pleasure of your company any longer." The look that crossed his face was purely possessive, and it frightened Adela enough that she took a cautious step back.

It was then that a sharp 'crack' sound erupted, and the redhead standing over Adela slumped, unconscious, to the ground at her feet. Surprised, she looked up to see Shianni standing there, an amazed look upon her face and the fragments of a heavy wine bottle in her hand. Had the situation not been so dire, Adela would have laughed at the befuddled look upon her cousin's face.

"What have you done?" one of the humans demanded, he and his lone pal rushing forth. As he stooped to check on his fallen leader, the other said, "Do you know who this is? This is Vaughan Kendalls, the Arl of Denerim's son!" He moved to help his friend pick up the unconscious form of Vaughan.

Shaking herself, Adela stepped toward the two enraged humans, "Just…take him home. Get him cleaned up and tended to. Things got out of hand here, as I am certain we are all sorry. Just take this as a lesson that perhaps we elves will not always stand still to be victimized." Her voice was calm, almost soothing, but the humans would have none of it.

"You'll pay for this, you knife-eared bitch!" he sneered in Adela's face as he and his friend carried Vaughan from the Alienage.

A sudden trembling coursed through Adela, adrenaline and dread rushing throughout her limbs. Shianni slumped forward, her head hanging, fear clearly shining in her brown eyes. "I've really done it this time!" she all but wailed, certain she had doomed them all.

Leave it to Soris. "Don't worry, Sis. I doubt very much Vaughan and his cronies will want it getting out that he was taken down by an elven woman and her faithful bottle of wine!" Soris did not feel the bravado evident in his voice, but knew it was the only means to calm his volatile sister.

And, it worked, to some extent. Glancing down at her dress and hands, she whispered, "I should go….clean up." She looked up into Adela's face. "The wedding will be starting soon." and walked back toward their house.

A sharp hiss from behind her brought Adela's attention from Shianni's retreating back to Soris. With a heavy sigh (what else could go wrong?), she turned to face her cousin.

Soris grinned weakly at her, pointing toward the two elves - a man and a woman - that approached. "Don't look now, but our betrotheds are making their way over."

'Oh' she mouthed as she turned fully to watch their approach. The young woman was plain, with dark brown hair, too large ears, and light brown eyes. However, she had a pleasant expression and looked like someone more used to smiling than frowning. _Just what Soris needed_, she thought. Her attention was then drawn to the man, and she nearly caught her breath at his beauty. She chuckled to herself. Most men did not want to be called beautiful, but, unfortunately, with as attractive race as the elves were, more often than not, even the men were considered beautiful. And Nelaros was no exception. Short blonde hair tucked behind pointed ears, and piercing blue eyes sought her out and held her gaze. He was tall for an elf, and by his build, it was obvious that he knew the value of hard labor. The way he walked also suggested that he had received some warrior training, and that, more than his good looks, pleased Adela more than anything had. More than likely, this was a man who knew when to fight for those he cared for. She smiled as he approached, and was pleased when her smile was returned tenfold.

With a nervous clearing of his throat, Soris stepped to the new arrivals, taking his place beside the woman. "Cousin, this is Velora, my bride," both women nodded to each other, smiles plastered on their faces.

"So this," Adela turned to the man, "must be my husband to be?" She surprised herself at the slightly flirtatious quality her voice had taken on.

Nelaros did not miss the inflection, and grinned approvingly at the lovely woman before him, "I am lucky to be so warmly welcomed," he replied, a cheerful glint in his eyes. Adela found herself blushing under his scrutiny, and she found she enjoyed the sensation. _Maybe this won't be so bad after all._

With those words, Soris and Velora stepped to the side, conversing in low tones as they tried to get to know each other just moments before they were to wed. Adela looked up at Nelaros, her breath catching in her throat at the intensity of his gaze.

"Nervous?" Nelaros asked, an obvious nervous catch in his voice.

Nervousness did course through Adela's small frame. She was pleased with what she had observed of Nelaros so far. He definitely made a good first impression. But the thought of what was to follow the wedding…"Yes, very much so." she answered honestly, looking up into his gem blue eyes.

They stood staring into each other's eyes for a moment, then, as one, they exhaled the nervous breaths and laughs they held. Grinning shyly at each other, they moved closed. Nelaros bent his head down, and placed a soft kiss on Adela's lips. As he moved away, a smile on his face, Adela bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. "Glad we got that out of the way," Nelaros whispered as he took her hand, noting that it was trembling. Adela took comfort in the fact that his hand trembled as well.

She nodded, "It wouldn't do for our first kiss to be the one at the ceremony," she giggled.

Soris stepped back toward the pair, a concerned look on his face. "Cousin, we should let them get ready for the wedding," he prodded, nudging her shoulder with his. Taking her off from her betrothed, Adela shot Soris an irritated scowl. Her expression softened when she noticed the concerned look upon his face.

Nodding her agreement, she shot Nelaros another warm smile and he and Velora walked away toward the houses they were temporary housed in to prepare for the wedding.

She turned back to her cousin, noting that his face was taut, eyes fixed on a figure just beyond the Vhenadahl. Oh, wonderful! Another human. Rolling her eyes in frustration, she grasped Soris' arm, pulling him along with her. "Wha…what are you doing, Adela?" he gasped, trying to keep up with the smaller, quickly moving woman.

"We cannot afford another incident," she muttered. "We need to face this one off before things continue to spiral out of control."

Soris shook his head, "I thought you handled Vaughan the others well enough," he muttered. Nevertheless, Adela shook her head, "Perhaps, but Shianni's little braining incident can only cause more problems. Let's see if we can avert a problem peacefully for a change." Soris had no option but to be pulled along by the surprisingly strong elven woman.

Their target was an older human man, tall with a muscular build. Dark brown hair hung in a short ponytail in the back, and his face - creased with lines that betrayed hardship - sported a short beard. Fine silverite armor encased his form, and a sword and dagger were sheathed upon his back. He appeared calm, almost serene as he surveyed the Alienage. His expression turned quickly to intense interest as he spied the two elves walking with purpose in his direction.

"Hello. And blessings on this joyous day," he replied in a deep voice, bowing slightly to the pair as they approach.

Adela stopped, her pose immediately shifting from hostile to a calmer, more relaxed stance. "And, we thank you for your blessings," she replied politely, her eyes taking in the figure before her. He was obviously an accomplished warrior and she, being unarmed and unarmored, did not wish an incident. Still… "However, we need to ask that you lease the Alienage before any unpleasantness should occur." Her voice offered no quarter, almost a command. A dark brow quirked upwards at her words, and dark eyes skimmed swiftly over the diminutive form before him. He noted the relaxed stance, the frankness of the gaze leveled upon him. No fear showed in her eyes. _So like her mother_, he thought as he bowed slightly.

"And what unpleasantness do you refer to?" he asked quietly, continuing to scrutinize the young elf standing before him. He did not miss the nervous shift of feet on the male elf's part, and quickly ignored his presence, bestowing his full attention upon the woman.

Adela quickly stifled the urge to sneer - that would accomplish nothing. Making certain to maintain an impassive, calm demeanor, she replied, "Come now. A lone human making his way through the Alienage, during a time of celebration." she quirked a blonde brow at him, almost mimicking his prior expression. "There will be those who will see this as an invasion and may well cause some trouble. So, in the interest of avoiding such an issue, I ask, yet again, for you to leave."

"And if I refuse?" Was that humor she saw reflected in his eyes? She allowed her expression to hard some before responding, "Things may well get beyond my control." Voice was steady, although she was trembling inside, her stomach fighting a fluttering feeling that almost made her feel ill. Still, she could not back down. He had to leave.

"And I refuse yet again," damn that calm voice! "What now?"

Adela let out a steadying breath, "Surely we can compromise…"

"Ah, so the rumors of your bravery in the face of aggression are not exaggerated," the human responded, a pleased tone in his voice. It was then that Velendrian, the Alienage hahren - or elder - stepped forward. The human turned his attention to the old elf and said, "Facing an armed and armored human, and this young one shows no fear. A fine quality, would you not agree, old friend?"

Adela's eyes widened as the familiarly the human showed the elder. Velendrian replied, a smile on his wizened face, "Ah, yes, the world can certain use more who know when to stay their blades," and turned a proud smile upon the young woman.

Flushing slightly with embarrassment, Adela, turned to the human. "I apologize," she bowed respectfully; "I did not know what you were a friend of the hahren."

A chuckle escaped his lips as the human waved aside her apology. "No, I should be the one to apologize. I was hardly forthcoming." His smile widened and he bowed deeper to the young woman. "My name is Duncan of the Grey Wardens."

The eyes of both young elves widened. A Grey Warden! Here? However, before they could voice their questions, Velendrian turned to his friend with his own. "What brings you here, old friend?"

"I'm afraid the worse has happened, my friend," Duncan's demeanor turned serious immediately. "A Blight is coming and I am seeking recruits for the Wardens."

The trepidation was clear in the old elf's voice as he shot Adela a sad glance. "Ah, I had heard the rumors. And we understand," he bowed his head toward Adela, "that King Cailan has left for Ostagar to battle some darkness there." He turned back to Duncan. "However, we have a wedding - two in fact - to attend to this day, and I fear that rumors of Blight and darkspawn truly have no place during our time of celebration."

A frown briefly crossed Duncan's features, and he quickly stifled it. Bowing again, he said, "By all means. Attend to your celebrations. My task can wait until later." As these words left his mouth, he looked briefly at Adela, bowed again to the hahren, and turned to take a place to observe the platform. Confused by the exchange, Adela went moved toward the Grey Warden. Velendrian, however, caught her arm, shaking his head. "Children, you must take your places." And, with that, the elder walked toward the platform. Frowning at each other, the pair moved toward the stage and up the stairs. Adela glanced back to see Duncan watching her with great interest. Shaking her head, she took her place beside Nelaros. Smiling warmly, Nelaros grasped her slightly clammy hand in his own equally clammy one. Adela looked up, determined that any fears or concerns she had would ease away, and she would be pleased to continue with the traditions of her folk.

The priest, one of the few who would enter the Alienage, called Velendrian toward center stage. The elder expounded upon the elven community, how it stood together, and represented their freedom from the bonds of slavery. He was interrupted by shouts from off stage, which grew louder. Frowning deeply, the elder turned to view half dozen guardsmen - the Arl's guardsmen - flanked by Lord Vaughan and his two cronies from earlier. The priest stepped forward with a protest, "My lord!" She scolded, "This is a wedding!" To which the arrogant lord responded, "Oh come now, Mother. You can dress your pets up for any party, but don't presume to call this a proper wedding!" Vaughan's cold green eyes searched the stage, and a predatory smile creased his features as they fell upon the form of Adela. "We're having a party," he said with a laugh as he moved toward the blonde elf, "And, ah, we find ourselves short female guests." His friends laughed lewdly, leering openly at the women who stood with both bridal couples. Vaughan started pointing out the 'female guests' and then exclaimed, "And where's the bitch that bottled me?" Turning around at the sound of guffawing, he spied her. "Here she is, Vaughan!" one of his friends cried, grabbing hold of Shianni. Ever a spitfire, the elven woman struggled out of his grasp, only to be met with stronger hands than expected. "Oh…" Vaughan purred, "We'll have some fun taming her. But, let's see." he turned his attention back to Adela, the possessive look - one the spoke purely of ownership - back in his eyes as he approached her.

Nelaros put his hands on Adela's shoulders, trying to pull her behind him, "I won't let him touch you!" he fervently promised his bride, courage replacing his earlier nervousness, his eyes rising to boldly meet Vaughan's cold gaze. _No fear_, Adela realized. _He would protect those he loves_. A warmth - pride - welled in her chest. Her father had indeed chosen well for her. "We can't let them take the others," she whispered back. Nelaros nodded, placing himself in front of her to block Vaughan's advancement.

"See the pretty bride," Vaughan murmured, all but ignoring Nelaros' presence. "You villain!" Nelaros exclaimed, moving to stand directly in front of the human lord. "You will not touch her!" Seeming to see him for the first time, Vaughan's eyes narrowed, utter hatred clear. "You truly think you can stop me, runt?" he all but roared, raising his hand and striking Nelaros to the ground. Nelaros scrambled back to his feet, but not as quickly as he would have liked. Vaughan had his hands on Adela and was pulling her towards him.

"Let the others go, my lord," Adela was saying in soft, soothing tones, quelling her own fears.

Looking deeply into her eyes, Vaughan sighed, "Then we wouldn't have our party, now, would we, my lovely one?" Nelaros surged forward, but one of the lord's guardsmen tackled the young elf, pressing him to the ground beneath his armored weight, striking him soundly in the face, briefly stunning him. Struggling against the stronger man, Nelaros could only watch as Adela tried, in vain, to reason with the human who held her too tightly. He saw something flash in Vaughan's eyes - and dread filled the young elf's heart. The lordling had come specifically for her, his bride. He knew that Adela did not know this man; when they had entered the Alienage earlier there was no doubt none of them knew who this man was. However, the lord obviously knew her - or knew of her. Nelaros realized, immediately, if he did not free her, he would never see her again. His struggles became more desperate, and he let out an anguished cry as one of Vaughan's men, tired of Adela's struggles and words, struck her sharply across the face, felling her, unconscious, to the stage floor. Vaughan rounded angrily upon his fellow, punching him square in the face, staggering him, and warned him if he ever placed his hands on her again, he would never live to regret it. The guard holding Nelaros down chuckled darkly as they watched Vaughan gently pick Adela up from the stage, and carry her away, the other women unwillingly towed along behind.

As the guard rose, he kicked Nelaros in the head, and he, too, fell into unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

_Okay, okay, here is the usual disclaimer: I own nothing save for Adela (well and maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_As stated before, I'm not going canon with the game or the books - just a slight twist to make things fit to my story. Be warned - This chapter contains sexual violence and general violence._

_And, thanks for the reviews! zevgirl, lisakodysam, mutive, patbaking. They help keep me going knowing that some of you find it interesting._

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 4_

Urgent hands shook his shoulder, an unfamiliar - no, vaguely familiar - voice calling his name. Then pain…Ah! His head! A sharp grimace crossed his handsome features as he rose, his hands encompassing his head. What? The hands on his shoulders retreated, and he more felt than saw the figure of another man crouch beside him.

"Nelaros!" that vaguely familiar voice - the man beside him - called. "Come on, get up!" he continued to encourage, hands once again reaching out to shake the man lucid.

Groaning, Nelaros brushed Soris' hands away, lifting his aching head from his hands. There was a crowd just beyond the platform - _the marriage stage _- where he now sat. Wait! He stood anxiously, glancing about. "Where is Adela?" he demanded, rounding on Soris, who now stood beside him, his own face twisted with anxiety and fear. Just a look at the other man, who only shook his head at him, told him everything the groom needed to know. _That damnable human took her!_

Without another word, with hardly a glance to his fellow groom, Nelaros all but stalked toward the angry crowd, more a mob than crowd. Soris rushed to his side, following tentatively as Nelaros pushed his way through to stand before Velendrian.

The elder was holding up his hands in a placating gesture, the human man (Nelaros had heard that a Grey Warden was in the Alienage and he could only presume this was he) standing calmly by his side. The human's dark eyes lit up with interest as Nelaros came to stand before the elder.

"Calmly, people," Velendrian was saying, his voice calm, but his eyes betraying concern.

"Calm!" a woman shouted from the crowds. "They took my sister!"

Other shouts mingled with hers, and the elder waited, letting them shout out their anger a bit before raising his voice slightly, "Shouting will not help anything. We must…"

"We must do _nothing_!" a woman's bitter voice hissed through the din, capturing everyone's attention. It was Elva, her face twisted with scorn. "Let them have the girls! If we were to do anything we would all pay the price." She turned to cast a glare at Nelaros before adding, "What's the cost of a few women's _virtue _when compared to the good of the community?"

The elven man could barely believe his ears. Was this woman actually suggesting they allow those fiends to use their women in such a fashion? If they were in Highever, something like this would _never _have been allowed to happen! Before a coherent retort came to mind, Cyrion stepped forward, placing a hand upon the younger man's shoulder, and spoke, "Easy enough for you to say, Elva," the craftsman looked directly into the woman's eyes, "but were it you in their place, I am certain you would want someone to care enough for your wellbeing to come for you." Yes, Nelaros would be most proud to be part of the Tabris family. He looked over at Elva, who only sneered back at the older man.

"Well, perhaps if you were to call to the royal palace, your precious daughter could be found," she sneered, stepping forward, "Although we are all fairly certain that she has little virtue left…" she never finished that sentence, as Nelaros took a threatening step toward her, causing the woman to take an anxious step back. No one stood to defend the hateful woman, and Nelaros all but loomed over her.

"Watch your words, harpy!" he hissed, noting with satisfaction the color all but bleed from her face as she stepped further away and disappeared into the crowd.

Velendrian, who had been speaking quietly with Duncan, turned back, "I have heard of Vaughan's….appetites, and the interest he took specifically in Adela is more than enough for cause for concern. We cannot leave them there," There was determination, but almost resignation, in his voice. The elder truly did not believe anyone in the Alienage would volunteer to rescue the women.

He was pleasantly surprised when Nelaros stepped back, looking at the elder. "Show me the way to the Arl's estate, and I will get my bride and the other women back home." _Safely_. There was such steady determination in his voice, such courage and concern in his eyes - Duncan continued his scrutiny of the young man_. If he succeeds, I may well leave the Alienage with two recruits._

Nelaros, noting Duncan's interest, spoke to the Grey Warden. "I understand, Ser, that you are a Grey Warden?" Duncan nodded. "Perhaps you could assist us?" He frowned as Duncan shook his head.

"I fear that my presence in such an undertaking would disavow our neutrality," he said, obvious regret in his voice. He said no more on that subject, but knew that not only could he not, as a Grey Warden, interfere, but, as a Grey Warden, he needed to know the potential of those he sought to recruit. If he assisted, how could he properly evaluate this young man and his bride as recruits into the order? A cold reality, yes, but a necessary one.

A scowl crossed the elven man's features, and Duncan held up his hand, "I can, however, offer you a sword," this he handed to Nelaros, "and my crossbow," this to Soris, who numbly accepted it. _When had I agreed to help_? Soris wondered. Nelaros glanced at the sword, adjusting his grip on the weapon. His martial training would come in handy.

_Now, to get inside the palace…_

A soft, male voice called out, "Sers. I may have a way into the palace…"

DA:O

Adela awoke on a cold, stone floor, her hands tied tightly behind her. Her face stung from the slap the nobleman gave her, and her head ached. With a groan, she pushed herself up awkwardly, her bound hands hindering movement.

The room she found herself in was bare, save for a rug in the center of the floor and a bench pushed against one wall. There were no windows and only one door, locked, she would presume. And, she was alone. _Where were the others_? She wondered, concern tightening in her chest.

The events of the day rushed at her like a heavy wave, her last memory that of Nelaros being beaten to the ground. _Was he all right_? She worried, shaking her head. She had to get out of here, had to find the others…but…how? With her hands bound behind her, she couldn't even attempt picking the lock.

The sounds of the tumblers clicking in the lock drew her attention back to the door. Her breath came in tighter gasps as she watched Vaughan Kendalls, dressed in laced up breeches and an open necked linen shirt, a dagger sheathed at his hip, enter the room.

The nobleman carefully closed the door, locking it behind him. The key he placed in the pocket of his shirt. The smile that crossed his face - part predatory, part appreciation - almost tightened Adela's throat closed with fear. The look in his eyes said all there was to - _She was his; he was not going to let her leave._

"Ah, my lovely one has awakened from her slumber," he murmured as he knelt before her, one hand reaching out to cup the injured side of her face. An angry scowl creased his face, "The fool has been punished for marring your lovely skin, my dear," he purred out this last, moving himself closer to the bound elf. Fear gripped Adela fully, but she swallowed it down, knowing that it would only hinder her escape, hinder her _survival_, and do nothing to aid her still missing friends.

"My lord," she whispered, her face tilted slightly away from his so that he could not see the paling of her face, "please, let us go." She then raised her intense blue eyes to his emerald pair, allowing a plea to show honestly there, hoping he would listen to reason. She stopped, clearly seeing that there would be no reasoning with this man. He had decided that she was his, and, as a noble, he was used to getting what he wanted. His next words only confirmed this.

"Ah, but my dearest one," both hands now cupped Adela's face and he brought his lips to brush against hers. She closed her eyes, uncertain what to do. "All this planning for us to be together would be for naught if I were to simply let you go." His voice had an almost playful scolding tone to it, and it caused her to shiver even more.

Still, she had to try; she had to try to get him to at least release the others. She was certain her own fate was sealed, but the others…"Then, then let the others go," she boldly met his eyes, feigning a confidence she did not feel. "If this was all for _us _to be together, surely the others have no place in your plans?"

Vaughan smirked, brushing his lips against hers again before answering, "What, then, amusement shall my guests enjoy if I were to do that?" He pulled away, the hold on her face tightening almost painfully. "I most certainly will not share you with them, or anyone else!" One hand moved to the back of her head, roughly grasping her, yanking her forward and against him. "Not even the king!" he growled this last in her ear as he stood, pulling her with him.

_The king?_ "What?" the word was out of her mouth before she knew it. _What did Cailan have to do with anything?_

Vaughan merely chuckled at his captive's confusion. "Come now, my love," his hands roamed along her back, capturing her bound hands and pulling them tightly against her back, pulling her more fully into the curve of his body. "Word has it that your visits to the royal palace are far more than merely delivering trinkets." His head dipped, his lips nuzzling against her neck. Her body stiffened at the contact, and she struggled against his hold. With a growl, he pushed her against the wall, holding her tight as his lips moved along her neck and throat, down to the small expanse of exposed shoulder and across her collarbone. "I promise you, you will find me a far more enjoyable lover…" he murmured against her skin.

Instinct took over. She had no idea what Vaughan was talking about with regards to the king, but she knew she would not get clarification from him. She struggled almost frantically, managing to free her legs from where Vaughan had pressed his hips against her, his leg between hers. He staggered slightly, allowing more space between them. A sharp cry escaped his lips as her knee connected with his groin, and he let her go. Stumbling away, cursing the skirt of her dress, Adela managed to pull her arms down and her legs through the loop of her arms. Though still bound, her hands now were in front of her.

Vaughan, however, had quickly recovered, and with a guttural growl, grabbed the young woman, flinging her hard against the wall. Almost snarling, he pressed his body against hers, imprisoning her hands between their bodies. "Now, now, my love," he growled, his hips pressing against her firmly, his body entrapping her effectively, "none of that." His mouth came down, hard, upon her lips, his tongue forcing entrance into her mouth. Knowing she had nothing to lose, she bit down on the offending organ. Hissing, pulling away, the nobleman brought up a hand and slapped her - hard - her head twisting away, the shock from the pain coursing down her face and neck, flowing out along her shoulders. "I had wanted to do this in a more…pleasant surrounding, in a room with a large bed," he explained as he pulled the skirts of her dress over her hips, maintaining the hold against her body. She could not move. "But, if you wish for our _first _coupling to be…aggressive, I shall accommodate your desires, my love." With that, he quickly unlaced his breeches, pushing her small clothes aside. Adela tried to push him away, but her hands were trapped in such a way between their bodies she could not get good leverage. Not against someone so much stronger than herself. A sob escaped her lips as she felt Vaughan's naked erection against her. With another growl - one full of lust and impatience - Vaughan lifted the small woman up, and with one push, entered her completely. An anguished cry escaped from her body as she felt her maidenhead break, and blood rushed down her thighs. Vaughan took note, and chuckled as he continued to thrust into his unwilling partner. "Well, well, well," he breathed into her ear, kissing the delicate organ, and then running his tongue along her lobe, "it would seem as though the rumors that you were the king's whore are untrue." He continued to thrust, his breathing becoming ragged, his kisses along her neck and ear more urgent. "I am your first, and only, it would seem." A ragged cry and his body jerked. He slowed his thrusts, bending his head into her neck, taking deep breaths, relaxing before continuing. He had watched her…_wanted _her for so long. And now that he had her, he did not want their first coupling to end too soon.

Adela stifled her sobs, biting her bottom lip as Vaughan continued to assault her. _Think past the pain,_ she told herself. _Think_. With Vaughan's movements, her hands now had more freedom, and she flexed the stiff fingers, willing circulation and warmth to their tips. With a deep breath, she moved her hands downward, carefully taking hold of Vaughan's manhood. A chuckle rumbled against her ear, "Ah, so, my little one," he kissed her ear almost tenderly, "you _do _wish to enjoy our time together." _If you only knew, you bastard_, she thought vehemently. Moving her hands, she positioned her thumbs, cringing inwardly at the touch as he continued to move in and out of her. The fingernails on each thumb were longer and sharper than the others as she used these as tools in her artwork. Now, they would be put to another use. Bracing herself, she jabbed each thumbnail into the hard - and extremely sensitive - organ that moved in her - breaking the skin, sinking deeply into the flesh, blood oozing from each wound. Vaughan shouted in pain, dropping her to clutch at himself. Landing on her feet, she brought her bound hands up, swinging back and then, with all the strength she could muster, smashed her clenched, bound fists into Vaughan's face, splaying his regal nose across his face. Blood oozed from the broken appendage as he roared with pain and anger, grasping at the newest injury. Desperately, Adela swung her fists again, connecting with Vaughan's temple, felling him to the stone floor. Without thought, still moving on pure instinct, she lunged down, pulling the noble's dagger from its sheath, plunging it down into the man's chest. Yanking it free, she ignored the rush of blood that flowed from the wound, simply grasping the blade to her chest. Stumbling back, gasping for air, ignoring the blood on her hands and thighs, trying to ignore the pain from between her legs, the young elven woman, knelt down, searching Vaughan's pocket for the key to the door. Rising on shaky legs, she went to the door. Placing an ear against it, she listened, certain that the noise of their struggle would have been heard. Hearing nothing, she placed the key in the lock and exited the room.

Rushing through the estate with her hands bound would not have been her first choice, but instinct told her to get out of the room where Vaughan lay and to seek out the others. She pressed herself against the stone of the walls, blending into the shadows there as she held the bloody dagger close to her chest. Yes, she did hear something - soft footsteps, as though someone was trying to keep silent. Moving along the wall, she peeked around the corner. Relief flowed through her body as she spotted Soris, cautiously making his way down the hallway, a crossbow held tightly in his hands. She watched him turn and gesture back up the hall. Her initial relief was replaced with shear joy at seeing Nelaros, a bloody sword in hand, rush forward to join her cousin. With a sharp cry, the young woman left the shadows and ran toward the men.

Nelaros heard and saw her first, apprehension giving way to concerned relief at seeing his bride rushing to him. That relief changed quickly to anger as he noted her condition - her bloody and bound hands, the blood on her wedding dress - her _torn _wedding dress - the blood…Repressing the growl of anger that threatened to escape his lips, he pulled the sobbing woman into his arms, kissing the top of her head and whispering assurances to her as he rocked her gently.

"Where is he?" he asked, Soris continuing to peer up and down the hallway, alert for any intruder.

Taking a deep breath, brushing aside her tears, Adela motioned down the hall, saying, "He's either dead or near to. It doesn't matter - I don't care. We need to find the others!" Her voice, ragged from fear, was still strong with determination. _Whatever happened can be dealt with later, _she thought_, all that's important is getting to the others_.

Pushing her away a little, Nelaros tilted Adela's head upwards, gazing into her eyes. He saw strong determination there, an honest concern for her friends. Leaning down to place a soft kiss on her lips, Nelaros nodded his head. Gentle hands reached down and carefully untied her hands, rubbing them softly before releasing them. Free, Adela rubbed the circulation back into her hands, clutching the dagger tightly. Soris managed a weak smile to his cousin, and the trio sped off in search of Shianni, Velora and the other women. They just hoped they were not too late…

DA:O

Their progress through the Arl's estate was bloody and painful. They had managed to locate Shianni (brutalized by one of Vaughan's cronies) and the others (poor Nola had been killed when she tried to fight against one of the guards to whom she had been given as a reward). The trio of armed elves killed Vaughan's friends and many of the guards. The five unarmed women fearfully followed Adela and Nelaros, with Soris behind, his crossbow ready for discharge. As they approached the back entrance, several guardsmen, including the captain of the guard, moved to block their path.

"'Ey now, what have we here?" the captain snarled, his eyes narrowing at the elves. His eyes turned to Adela, a smirk crossing his lips, "Aren't you Lord Vaughan's bitch?"

With a cry of outrage, Nelaros lunged forward, his sword leading. The captain snarled back, rushing forward to meet the enraged elf. Adela pushed the women back, motioning to Soris to start firing, and she, too, jumped into the fray. Spinning and ducking, dipping down, and lunging out, the elven woman called upon her years of training at the side of her mother, as well as her own continued practice after her mother's death. Adaia had taught her well, and many of the guards fell, their throats sliced or backs pierced by the sharp blade. Soris' bolts found the backs and chests of others and they, too, fell before the onslaught of enraged elves.

Nelaros fought hard and with skill against the heavily armed and armored human. He managed to parry and duck many of the captain's strikes with his great sword, the elf's long sword darting in to sting and then retreat back, seeking other openings. The human was tiring far quicker than the agile elf, who dodged, and ducked, thrust out and nipped at the man. With a final twist and turn, Nelaros spun about, bringing his sword up, nearly cleaving the man's head from his shoulders. As the captain's body fell heavily to the ground, the sound of a "click" and "twang" from a crossbow could be heard. Nelaros stiffened suddenly, a crossbow bolt driving deeply into his chest. With an anguished cry, Adela spun about, locating the enemy, and without a second thought threw her dagger at the man. The blade found its mark, driving deeply into his throat. With a gurgle, the man dropped his weapon and clutched at his throat, blood pouring from the wound as he slumped to the ground. It took many minutes for him to die.

Crying out his name, Adela fell to the ground beside her betrothed, tears running down her cheeks. _No, no, no…_she thought_. Not when I could see a future here_. A blood stained hand raised up to lightly brush the tears from her cheek.

"Adela, don't cry," Nelaros pleaded weakly. Her very blue eyes met his, and he reached into a pocket, pulled out the ring he was to give her at their wedding: a gold band, etched with leaves and grapes - an ancient elven blessing for a fruitful, happy union. Nelaros smiled at her, one hand on her cheek moving to encourage her to bend her head to his, raising up slightly to kiss her. "I am sorry, love," he coughed weakly, slipping the ring on her finger. "I had hoped to make myself worthy of you and your love."

Adela shook her head, bending down to kiss him again, whispering, "You already did, Nelaros, my _husband_. You already did." And, smiling at her words, the gem blue eyes of Nelaros closed, his body relaxed as she held him. A sob slipped past her lips, Adela brushed back his blonde hair, fingertips lightly brushing along his warm forehead absently. Her head still bent, she took in a deep breath. _They had to leave. _With a final kiss to his lips, Adela rose.

Without a word, she went over to the dead crossbowman and viciously yanked the dagger from his throat. Stepping back to her fallen fiancé, she bent and picked up the sword Duncan had lent him for the rescue. Whispering a faint goodbye, she looked up and motioned for the others to follow. Quietly, with no other obstacles, the sad group of elves left the estate and, keeping well to the shadows, avoiding all guards and other citizens, made their quiet way back to the Alienage.

DA:O

They entered the Alienage to find Velendrian, Duncan and Cyrion waiting anxiously nearby. Duncan, being the first to spy the ragged band's entrance, placed a calming hand on Cyrion's shoulder, gesturing. The trio watched the approach of the group. Adela told Velora and the other women to take Shianni back to the house, and she and Soris stepped toward the three older men.

"What happened?" Cyrion asked, his voice heavy with concern as he pulled his daughter into his arms. Soris could not find his voice and merely shook his head, hanging it in sorrow. Adela took a deep breath.

"Lord Vaughan and his…friends are…dead," she looked up into her father's eyes, tears threatening to spill. "Nola was killed when she fought against a guard. Nelaros was killed during our escape." Cyrion's head bowed in grief, pulling his daughter back into his arms, placing a cheek on the top of her head.

Velendrian turned to Soris. "Soris?" The young elven man looked up, but could only shake his head.

"We had no choice," Adela's voice was stronger than expected, her eyes clear, as she pulled herself from her father's embrace to stand straight before the elder. "They harmed us, and we fought in self defense." Her eyes practically blazed. "We did as we must to survive."

The elder was taken aback. Normally Adela was one to talk down a potentially violent situation. For her to say, with no regret in her voice, that the killing was necessary…he believed her. He glanced over at Duncan, and saw stark approval in those dark brown eyes. Velendrian frowned, looking back at the girl. Either way, he knew, they were going to lose her. A thought came to mind, and he spoke it. "What about going to the Queen?" he asked the girl. Adela shook her head as the elder continued. "Come now, Adela. You are her friend; she will protect you."

"Protect me?" Adela questioned. "No. I won't do it. We defended ourselves. I'll not run…"

"Where is the Velendrian, elder and administrator to this Alienage?" a strong voice called out from the gates, interrupting what Adela was about to say. Turning, the elves and Grey Warden noted the advancement of the Captain of the City Guard, flanked by half dozen of his men.

With a heavy sigh, Velendrian stepped forward, "I am here, Captain."

The captain frowned. "The Arl's palace has a river of blood from one end to the other. None know if the Arl's son will survive the vicious assault upon him." He glared at all the elves before him. Soris started to tremble with fear, and Adela had a sick feeling in her stomach, threatening to overcome her. "I want answers, Elder, and I want them…"

"I did it," Adela stepped forward, her voice strong despite the fear she felt. Soris' startled eyes sought hers, begging her to step back and _be quiet_.

The Captain scoffed. "You truly expect me to believe that one woman - one small, elven woman - did all that damage?"

Velendrian glanced briefly at the girl, pride straightening his back, "We are not all as helpless as many believe us to be, Captain."

The captain merely glared at the elder before turning his attention back to Adela. "While I do not envy your fate, girl, I admire your courage." He stepped toward her, looking her directly in the eye. "Your coming forward will save your people a lot of trouble." He turned to his men. "Take her to Fort Drakin, men." Adela raised her head, her stomach threatening to purge. _Fort Drakon_? She knew her life was at an end. Looking over at Soris, she realized, _so be it_. Her people would be safe, that was all that mattered.

As the guards moved to take Adela into custody, Duncan raised a hand to catch the Captain's attention. "Captain, a moment if I may?"

Irritated, the captain glanced over at the other man, "What is it, Grey Warden? As you can see, we have the matter well in hand…"

Duncan interrupted him, saying, "Be that as it may, I hereby conscript this young woman into the Grey Wardens. You may not take _my _recruit into custody."

"Son of a tied down…" the Captain growled. "Fine! I cannot challenge your right, Grey Warden, but I will have to insist that you get this elf out of the city before night fall."

Duncan bowed his head in consent as the captain turned back to his men. "Alright, change of plans, men! I want all available men to patrol the streets. Once word of this gets out, there will be trouble." And, without a glance back to the Grey Warden or the elves, the city guardsmen took their leave of the Alienage. The captain sputtering the entire time about Wardens and elves.

The elves watched the guards leave in stunned silence. Duncan turned to the girl and said, "Gather your things. We must leave immediately." Adela raised her eyes to Duncan's, and he was yet again stunned by her resemblance to her mother. "I…I thank you for helping me. But," she gestured to the Alienage as a whole, "what will happen here? I cannot simply leave everyone…"

But Duncan cut her off. "I needed recruits for the Grey Wardens, and I found you. That it happens to save your life is irrelevant." He stepped closer, looking down at the smaller elf. "You must understand that there is something happening out there that is larger than anything happening here."

A frown deepened upon Adela's face, "Be that as it may," she nearly spat, the tensions of the day wearing on her, "no one else cares about what happens here, so someone has to!"

_Indeed, so like Adaia_. Duncan shook his head, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. "Adela, if the Blight is allowed to go unchecked, it will affect those here as well." His intense dark eyes held her own. "We need people of skill, courage, determination. You did what had to be done in order to survive and rescue your friends." In a gentler tone he continued. "I am sorry for the death of your betrothed. He was a good and skilled man, passionate, fiery. He, too, would have been worthy of becoming a Warden."

Tears shimmered in her eyes, Adela nodded. "I understand. I…I will gather my belongings and meet you back here." And, without another word, she left the Grey Warden and elder, Soris taking his usual place by her side as they walked back to their home.

Just as they reached the front door, Soris stopped. "Adela?" Soris tried to get her attention. "I just want to say…heck!" He stopped, grabbing hold of his cousin (he did not notice her slight flinch) and pulled her into his arms. "Thank you, for back there. For taking the full responsibility. For…" he blushed, looking into Adela's astonished face. "For always being my hero." He grinned at Adela's snort, and continued. "You've always done the right thing. Always. You never questioned your course, and always seemed to know what to do. Well," he cleared his throat, releasing his cousin. "I'm going to take a page out of your book. I'm going to settle down with Velora. She…she may not be gorgeous, but she's good and kind and has a good head on her shoulders. She has plans for the Alienage." he broke off, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed. Here he was talking about marrying Velora when the body of Adela's betrothed lay cooling in the Arl's mansion. He nearly jumped when he felt Adela's hand pat his cheek. "It's okay, Soris," she encouraged. "Be happy." And, with that, she turned, opened the door, and entered her home.

Velora met her at the door, thanking her profusely for helping her. After promising to take care of Soris, she left her alone with Shianni.

The red haired elven woman was in bad shape. Apparently, Vaughan had beaten her prior to his visit to Adela. Her whole face was a mass of swelling bruises and bloody cuts. Adela knew that there were other wounds - unseen wounds - that her younger cousin would need to deal with. "I'm sorry, Shianni," she whispered when the two women were alone. Shianni looked up at her cousin, confusion evident on her face.

"Why are you apologizing?" she asked, rubbing a hand up and down Adela's arm. She was certain that Vaughan had assaulted her elder cousin, but had not asked and would not. Adela shook her head, pulling Shianni into a tight embrace. Whispering still, she replied, "Vaughan had been watching me, for how long, who knows? He came here for me. And the rest of you…" a soft sob and Adela buried her face into Shianni's neck. But, the redhead would not hear of it. "No," she scolded firmly, shaking Adela. "No! I will not let you take the blame for that pig! He caused the pain, the suffering. You are just as much a victim of that…that shem as we all are." Shianni placed a hand to Adela's cheek. "Cousin! I saw you! You charged into the room, your eyes blazing with fire, justice guiding your blade! You saved us!" Shianni kissed her on the cheek. "And I will always be grateful to you for it. You are amazing. We are all proud of you. We always have been."

Sighing, Adela stood straighter, gazing into her cousin's brown eyes. "I have to go." Simple statement. Shianni frowned. "Why?" Simpler question. A harsh laugh, something no one had ever heard from Adela. "I've been conscripted into the Grey Wardens."

Shianni shook her head. "You? A Grey Warden?" She seemed to think about it for a moment, and then her poor, battered face split in a grin. "You know, as crazy as that may sound, it's really not so crazy an idea." With a laugh, she pulled Adela into a tight hug, "I love you, Cousin. They'll be writing books about you, you know?"

"You're crazy, cousin," Adela retorted, hugging Shianni back just as tightly.

Shianni helped Adela gather her things. As they did so, Cyrion stepped into the room, a cloth wrapped bundle in his arms. "Adela, here is something…something that belonged to your mother. I know she'd want you to have it." With these words, he placed the bundle in her hands. Frowning, Adela moved to her bed, placing the bundle down and unwrapped it. There lay several pieces of leather armor. Cyrion spoke again, "This is a quality Dalish armor. Your mother wore it during the Rebellion." Adela looked up, her eyes wide. "I've no doubt it will be too large for you, but find someone who works in leather and they can adjust it to your size." Then, with a cry, the man pulled his daughter into his arms, wrapping her tightly, knowing she was going off into more danger, away from home. _But she couldn't even be safe here_, he reminded himself. Sighing, he disengaged the hug. "Don't forget to stop by your mother's cache and retrieve her bow and blades," he offered to Adela. "I'm certain Duncan would not mind the brief stop." Adela nodded, rewrapping the armor and placing it in her backpack. With a final sigh, she turned to her father. "I love you, Papa," she said, gazing into his blue eyes. "And I love you too, dear heart."

A final hug and Adela left her home.

Then, by Duncan's side, the pair left the Alienage, and then the city of Denerim. After a brief stop to retrieve her mother's equipment, the pair headed Southward, toward Ostagar, and the waiting darkspawn hoard.


	5. Chapter 5

_Okay, okay, here is the usual disclaimer: I own nothing save for Adela (well and maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_As stated before, I'm not going canon with the game or the books - just a slight twist to make things fit to my story. This chapter has a bit of a flashback, answering a bit with regards to the "broken promise", and a bit of fluff, too._

_And, thanks for the reviews! Biff McLauglin, mutive. They help keep me going knowing that some of you find it interesting._

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 5_

_We are making good time_, Duncan thought, looking over at his elven recruit. The young woman soldiered on gamely, never offering a complaint, but always open to suggestion and even offering her own. Duncan's initial surprise by how much like her mother she was had shifted a bit. Yes, she had many of Adaia's strengths, but she seemed bereft of the many weaknesses the overly proud Dalish warrior had. _Perhaps that's Cyrion's influence_, the Warden considered. He had been most impressed by how quickly she had rebounded from the trauma of just a couple of weeks ago. He did not know all of the details of what exactly had happened in the Arl's estate, but from the haggard and beleaguered appearance and demeanor of the surviving elves, he was certain it had not been pleasant. Oh, he knew the girl was not completely recovered - there was a sadness and pain that lingered in her eyes, especially when she thought she was unobserved. He hoped she would find someone she could talk to about what had happened. Too often than not, leaving such things unsaid only caused festering wounds on the soul and psyche, and Duncan felt that this girl was far too special to allow that to happen.

He glanced back again, watching as the girl shifted her pack and continued walking. They had opportunity to stop at a farmstead the night prior, and the kindly farmer and his wife had offered up a hot bath for the pair. The couple had been uncertain as to the relationship between their guests, and Duncan recalled the horrified expression that came upon Adela's face when the wife tentatively asked if they would mind sleeping in separate rooms. He chuckled now as he recalled how Adela had firmly advised the goodwife that separate rooms were, indeed, acceptable.

Adela glanced up from the ground, her right eyebrow rising in query. _A most decidedly Adaia expression_, Duncan acknowledged, still chuckling.

"Are you going to tell me what you are laughing at," Adela asked as she hurried to Duncan's side, glancing up into his face, a hand shielding her eyes from the sun, "or shall I simply presume you are laughing at me - still - and leave it at that?" As she said the words, the corners of her mouth lifted in a near smile, but the amusement was plain to see in her eyes. Duncan allowed an open smile. In the past two weeks of traveling together, the pair had gotten to know each other relatively well. Adela, who was normally shy, especially around people she only recently met, had become far more open and candid. And Duncan found himself enjoying the young woman's company greatly. He realized he had not smiled so much in the past couple of years as he had during these past few weeks_._

That same smile on his rugged face, Duncan bowed his head slightly, admitting, "I was, indeed, still chuckling about the bedroom incident." He watched as Adela shook her head, and laughed harder as she mouthed "Infant". To save face, Duncan then said, "I knew your mother," he waited for the girl's reaction. Deep interest clouded her eyes, and her face lit with genuine curiosity. "I had even tried to recruit her into the Grey Wardens - several times, in fact."

"Oh?" the girl asked, "And why did she not join?"

Duncan shrugged, the movement adjusting his own backpack. "She really had no use for us, I'm afraid." His lips quirked at the memory of the Dalish warrior woman, defiance smeared across her face, her bow slung almost carelessly across her back, hands on hips, as she firmly told Duncan that he and the rest of his group could well find Arlathan itself before she would ever join, even if they so much as _thought _to use the Right of Conscription. Despite her obvious dislike for the order - and humans on the whole - Adaia had been one of the most honorable and likeable women he had ever met. She told the truth - as she saw it - and allowed you to disagree. But, if you tried to tell her she was wrong…well, those conversations never ended well. And, she was extremely opinionated. The memory of an argument between the elven woman and Loghain came to mind and he shook his head at the remembrance of it. The two could almost go nose to nose, and neither backed down from their conviction. _The problem with those two, _Duncan thought_, was that they thought too much alike, and never realized that, on the whole, they had actually agreed with one another._

Adela watched Duncan's face as it softened in memory. "Did you know her well?" she asked, pulling the Grey Warden from his revelries. Her question was met with an almost sad smile, "Did anyone really know Adaia Maheriel?" He asked, sighing, with a slight shrug. "Your mother was complicated. She disliked humans immensely, yet fought beside Maric, Rowan and Loghain against the Orlesians. She hated cities, yet ended up marrying an elven man from an Alienage and raised a fine daughter." He bowed to the girl. "She felt that those too weak or lazy to defend themselves had no place upon the world, and yet she defended the elves of the Alienage with an almost religious fervor, and died because of it." He looked back at Adela's face, and knew he had her full attention. "And she hated my order, almost passionately. Yet, she was always friendly to me - when I wasn't trying to recruit her." He smiled again.

"Why would she hate an order such as the Grey Wardens?" Adela simply had to ask.

A long sigh and then Duncan replied, "Mostly, she had secrecy. Always honest and upfront herself, she felt that my order was far too secretive, and in her mind, that meant untrustworthy." A slight shrug and he looked back at his companions. "I am glad that her prejudices did not get passed down to you, Adela. You have her passion, but also your father's good sense and compassion. You have the best qualities of both people, and that makes you unique in this world. The true qualities of a leader."

Intrigued, Adela asked, "How so, Duncan?"

"Ha," he chuckled, "How about you answer a question for me?" His dark gaze held Adela's, and she found its intensity unnerving. Clearing her throat (why was she suddenly nervous?) she replied with a simple "Yes". Duncan paused, not quite certain how to pose his question, or if even the girl knew the answer. "When the discussion of punishment came up back at the Alienage, before the guards arrived, Velendrian suggested you go to the Queen, that she may protect you," Adela nodded, "Why did you refuse?" He studied her face carefully. "After all, the Queen most certainly could protect you and, from what I had heard, you and she are quite close."

A frown marred Adela's lovely face, and she turned her face away from Duncan as she searched for her answer, biting her lower lip. Duncan waited patiently, allowing the girl to fully understand her reason before she had to voice them to another. He suspected he knew the answer, as one of the few who knew of Maric's broken promise to the girl's mother. He wanted to reach over the pull the lip she was savaging from between her teeth, but decided that would be a too familiar action, and decided they did not know each other nearly well enough for such. _Although I feel as though I have known this girl all her life._

He broke from his thoughts as Adela cleared her throat, clearly ready to answer his question. "Well, you see, Anora and Cailan have both been working hard on changing the laws regarding elves and their status in Fereldan," she started. Duncan nodded, not saying a word. "They have met with a great deal of resistance from the nobles."

"They told you this?" Duncan asked quietly.

Tipping her head side to side, biting at the inside of her cheek, Adela shrugged her shoulders, "Cailan mentioned once a great deal of frustration with the nobles on the issue, but neither really came right out and said anything. It was Loghain who made a point of making it a topic after dinner one night."

"Oh? Loghain?" Duncan's interest was piqued.

She offered the commander a lopsided grin, remembering the events of that night. "It was shortly after a Landsmeet, and Anora and Cailan, as they normally did, invited me over for dinner once all the nobles had left for their respective estates."

"They did this often?"

She nodded, "Oh yes. Anora told me that she and Cailan found that my company after having to deal with stubborn nobles who felt they were far more entitled than anyone else to have a calming effect on them. Cailan even joked that it had the same effect on Loghain, although," she chuckled, "I highly doubt that." She shifted her pack again as they continued to walk, Duncan's attention still on her as she told him of that night. "We were just settling down in one of the smaller dining rooms in the palace, food laid out in a buffet style…Anora did that mostly for me. She knew I felt strange having elves wait upon me, and many of the servants at the palace are elves…"

_The night had been unusually warm, and both Anora and Cailan were visibly upset by the turn of events at the Landsmeet. Their presentation of a bill to amend the laws regarding elves had met, yet again, with strong residence in the Landsmeet. Cailan had all but stormed from the proceedings, leaving Anora to calm frayed nerves and insulted egos. She understood his frustration - she had shared it as well. But, it did not do well to simply walk out of talks. They needed the nobles consent if the bill was to work, they could not simply mandate it and expect it to be followed. They decided to call an early break and the nobles left for the night. Adela knew of these events because Cailan made a point of sulking about it (yes, sulking. And she teased him about it as well, to which the king merely rolled his eyes at her). Loghain's scowl was deeper than usual, and Anora could not find it within her to properly entertain her friend. _

_Frowning, Adela poked the queen with her fork, hoping for some reaction. All she received was a cold glare. Both brows rose at this, and then Anora's icy countenance broke, and a heavy sigh escaped her lips. "I am sorry, Adela," the queen reached over and squeezed her friend's arm, "I fear we are all poor hosts this evening."_

_The elven girl merely shrugged. "Well, at least I'm not Teryna Cousland, so you really don't need to worry about being polite."_

_Loghain's head snapped up, "Don't," he scolded, raising a finger as though Adela were an impetuous child. "That's just the thinking those fool nobles encourage, and I'll not hear it from you, Adela Maherial Tabris!"_

_Anora and Cailan gaped openly at Loghain's outburst. He had never spoken in such a tone to Adela. For her part, Adela merely stared at the Teryn for a moment, her deeper than night blue eyes staring into Loghain's paler orbs. Then, with a slight nod of her head, she replied, "Understood, Teryn Loghain. I was, however, merely offering a joke…"_

_A sharp sputter of air - not quite a sigh - escaped Loghain's lips. "Be that as it may, young Adela, never think yourself below those who would want you to believe so." His gaze was penetrating, holding the young elven woman in place. "You come from a proud and noble line, regardless of race. Your mother once told me that the Maherial line was royalty among the Dalish. And, knowing your mother, I believe it." He bent down to his food, lifting his eyes, offering a slight quirk of his brow as he lifted a forkful to his mouth._

_Cailan, feeling the tension ease slightly, turned his attention back to his plate, but Anora sat staring at her father for a few moments longer. _

_When dinner was over, the diners went to a sitting room, where Anora and Adela discussed their gardens and new orders Adela and her father had received, and Cailan and Loghain merely sat, keeping the women company, injecting advice or other comments into the conversations. As the visit grew to a close, Loghain offered to escort Adela to the front gates. After a brief exchange of confused glances, Anora hugged Adela good bye just before Cailan pulled her into his arms for a hug as well. Anora rolled her eyes at her husband, playfully swatting his arm. Adela had to grin. Anora seldom openly displayed affection for anyone and she felt honored that the queen considered her a good enough friend to trust with these "lapses"._

_Loghain took the young woman's arm and led her from the room, and out to the gates. The guards there bowed respectfully to the Teryn and, at his nod, moved away from the pair. Never releasing his hold on her arm, Loghain turned Adela to face him. _

_She turned her eyes up to look into the Teryn's face. His face somehow seemed softer in the darkness, and she felt a little flustered at the attention he was showing her this evening. "Adela," he started, "How much do you know of your mother's history with Maric, Rowan and myself?"_

_She frowned at the unexpected question. She knew her mother had fought beside both men and the former queen during the rebellion. She also knew that her mother had been very angry with King Maric, but had never known the reason. Recalling the night Loghain had found her and brought her mother's lifeless body to the palace, she realized that there was something more than a comrades in arms relationship between them. Frowning, she returned her gaze back to Loghain, her frown telling him all he needed to know. "We were friends, Adela. She saved Maric on numerous occasions, Rowan a few, and me, well, let's say that while she did not save my life by strength of arms, she did save it by strength of heart and convictions." He sighed. "We all owed her a great deal, and her name is never even mentioned in any history books." He frowned, his gaze shifting to the heavens above them. "Not that she would want it to be," he muttered, looking down at Adaia's daughter. "With all she had done for us, she only ever asked for one thing, one promise that has yet to be fulfilled." His eyes, sharp and piercing, turned back to the girl he continued to hold at arms length. "All she ever asked for was that the elves of Fereldan be treated like the people that they were." He let go of his hold, crossing his arms, and turning his back facing the palace. Adela did not see the array of emotions that crossed his face, but his stance was straight, showing a great deal of discomfort. He looked back over at her, frown back in place. "Cailan and Anora strive to fulfill that promise made by Maric all those years ago. And the nobles still refuse to see that elves have been of great assistance to this nation time and again! Had the laws been changed when Maric promised…" his head bowed, "your mother would yet still draw breath."_

_Shaken, unsure how to respond, Adela stood before the gates, the warm breeze ruffling her hair. So, she reached forward and placed a small hand upon Loghain's arm, squeezing it a bit. The man looked down at the small hand, so graceful, smooth and perfect. Sighing, he placed a larger paw over it, and turned back to the girl. _

"_That's why Anora and Cailan strive so hard for the passage of the new bill?" she asked, understanding at last what Loghain was telling her, "To fulfill the promise Maric never did?" _

"_Partly," he acknowledged. "Not fulfilling that promise, coupled with Adaia's violent death, also prompted Maric to take great interest in your life. He felt guilty. I had still maintained contact with your mother over the years, but she never truly trusted us again." He frowned, looking down at the hand that covered hers. "The more time that passed, the more she figured that we would never uphold our promise, and she would continue to fight for and protect the elves that were not her clan, who were weaker than she and who had given up hope long ago." He lifted Adela's hand in his own, turning the palm over, and lightly kissed the palm. A tingle ran up her arm, and she gaped at the man who had never shown any kind of affection for her before. She realized discussing her mother had a strong emotional impact on him, and she wondered about that as well. "Cailan took an immediate liking to you and did not know of his father's broken promise until he and Anora were wed." He shrugged at the question in Adela's eyes, "Anora knew of it. And she told him."_

_Adela bowed her head. Was Loghain trying to tell her that the royals' friendship with her was out of some sense of guilt? She looked up, Loghain's eyes holding a sense of openness she had never seen there before. No, she realized. He was trying to make her see how hard the king and queen were fighting for this; how hard he would fight for it. To fulfill a broken promise. She nodded, smiling at the Teryn, the legend, who seemed to be standing before her asking for her forgiveness. None was needed, as far as she was concerned. Loghain still held her hand, and she used that leverage and stood on her tiptoes, placing a soft, chaste kiss on his cheek. With a whispered "Good night" she turned and left the palace grounds. Loghain watched as she melted into the shadows, his hand going to a pocket wherein lay the stylized halla figurine the girl had carved just a couple of years earlier._

Duncan remained silent as she spoke. So, Loghain had told her of the promise Maric had been unable to fulfill? Duncan found that interesting. Looking at his companion, he asked, "So, this is why you refused to go to the queen for assistance?" He wasn't sure he completely saw the connection, but had his own thoughts and wanted to see how close on target he was.

With a nod of her head, the girl replied, "If I were to beg the queen and king for sanctuary, how would the nobles take that? As some knife-ear" Duncan scowled at the term "using her influence over the royals to protect her, even though she blatantly broke the law. Apparently there were enough rumors going around regarding our relationship," she shivered at the memory of Vaughan's outburst regarding Cailan, "and I do not want my crimes to affect the rest of my people. As it is," she looked up at Duncan, her eyes betraying a slight annoyance at him, "_your _conscription of me into the Wardens may have repercussions for them in court, but I'm not savvy to politics that I could well be wrong." She shrugged her slender shoulders. "I just did not want any questions raised. I committed a crime, in self defense, yes. I do have to question and wonder if we really needed to kill all of those guards?" she shrugged again, this time causing her pack to shift uncomfortably on her back. "I don't ever want anyone to think that I would hide behind my friendship to the king and queen and think I can get away with something because of it."

Duncan walked quietly by her side for several minutes, and then nodded. "Understandable." He grinned down at the lovely elven woman. "You still seek to protect your people. Very worthy. But, remember Adela," his voice turned stern, "As a Grey Warden, everyone is now your people, we make no distinction between race or class, noble or commoner, mage or warrior. Among the Wardens you are not an elf; you will always be a Grey Warden first."

She snorted, "Well, make sure the rest of the world has the new rules, will you? If I hear 'knife ears' one more time…" she chuckled, her expression softening as she tilted her head upwards to look Duncan in the eye (Duncan noticed that she always seemed intent to look people in the eye, another good quality). "But, it's good to know, Duncan. Very good to know." She grinned up at him. "So, tell me about some of the other Wardens."

Duncan's chuckled rose, "Well, there is one Warden, just a few years older than yourself, who is our junior warden. His name is Alistair." An affectionate look crossed his eyes. "I think you will like him. He has a…quirky sense of humor, is a rather self-deprecating lad. And, oh, yes," he smirked, "he has an unholy love of all things cheese."

"Cheese?" the young elven woman asked, her right brow rising as a slight laugh hitched her voice.

Nodding, Duncan said, "Yes, any cheese really. I have no idea how he came up with such an obsession, but the rest of the Wardens have taken to piling their plate with cheese immediately before the boy can get his hands on it."

Adela faced forward, an amused expression on her face. "Cheese, huh?" She looked back up, "Anything else you can tell me? Such as, am I a Grey Warden now or do I need to pass some sort of a test?"

She did not notice the darkening of Duncan's face. The man felt an uncomfortable twinge in his stomach. He liked the girl; she was the daughter of a very old friend, and he hated lying - by omission - to her. The lass was nothing short of entirely open and honest (_Alistair will love her_), and he felt badly that, in this, he could not offer the same. However, "There is the joining, the ritual that makes a Grey Warden," he began, but raised a hand to her next question, "It is kept secret, and for good reason. I won't be able to tell you about it until the time of the joining."

"Oh," was all she said as she glanced up at the setting sun. "Well, okay, I understand, I guess. Is there anything you can tell me?" she prompted.

Looking at her profile, Duncan replied, "The sun will be setting in a couple of hours and I know of a spot to set up camp," he stifled a laugh at the girl's annoyed expression. "I am sorry, Adela. There are many things I do need to tell you, but only…"

"…after the joining," the girl finished. With a wave of her hand, she grumbled, "Fine, fine. Keep your secrets, silly Warden. I'll find them out when I _pass _the joining."

With an exaggerated flounce, Adela quickened her pace, casting back to Duncan a contrived look of superior annoyance before skipping ahead. Duncan rolled his eyes and smiled at the elf's antics. _I have no doubt you will pass_, he thought as the sun continued its westward journey toward sunset.

DA:O

The flickering light from the campfire illuminated the small camp, creating shadows that moved just beyond the perimeter. The tents Duncan had acquired prior to leaving Denerim were set up at one end, and the smell of conies sizzling over the fire reminded Duncan - even more than his grumbling stomach - that he had not eaten since earlier in the day. Stepping into the lit center of their camp, Duncan watched as Adela turned the spit the four small rabbits were strung upon, watching the crackling and sputtering skins spit grease, dripping into the flames. Shaking his head, he sat down on the log behind the girl. Although he was pleased that they were be eating fresh food instead of the rations they had been eating these past couple of weeks.

"Now, who would have thought a city girl such as yourself knew how to hunt?" he teased, unbuckling the silverite breast plate he wore. With a heavy sigh, he removed the armor, rubbing his hands over the soft cotton shift he wore beneath.

"Heh…" Adela's response was more sound than word as Duncan's comment broke her from her thoughts, "Do you really think Adaia Mahariel would allow her daughter to reach age ten without knowing how to care for herself in the wilderness?" her voice rose slightly in affected pique. "Really?" She looked back over her shoulder to the older man. With a small giggle, she continued, "I actually love to hunt. It's the skinning and cleaning part I hate. Had you not disappeared to wherever you went…" she gestured vaguely in the direction he came from, "you would have been given that delightful task."

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Duncan replied, a chuckle in his voice, "Alright, alright. I doubt Adaia could tolerate her daughter being reared without some common knowledge of survival techniques." He watched as the girl nodded her consent, turning her gaze back to the meal cooking before her. He saw a watchful, guarded expression come to her eyes. "Are you well, Adela?"

"Hmmm…?" she glanced up. "Oh! Sorry Duncan, I was just thinking…"

Pulling off his boots and setting them aside, Duncan nodded, "I've noticed. Your eyes get an almost far away look, but it's still as though they are watching everything around them." He tilted his head. "It's actually a bit unnerving."

"Really?" She asked, "I hadn't known that." She gave the spit a turn, resting her chin on one knee. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Well, my dear, I believe you just did," came the wry reply.

"Oh, ha ha," she retorted, "You are just too funny. And you wonder why Mother did not want to join the Wardens?"

"Ah, ah, my dear girl. I do not wonder. I _know _she did not like us, and I know the _why_," he made a welcome gesture with his hand. "Go ahead and ask your question."

Another turn of the spit, and the fire spat and crackled as the fat from the rabbits dripped down. "Is it strange to mourn for someone you barely knew?" she looked up into Duncan's face, which she noticed was carefully guarded. "I mean, I barely knew Nelaros, and before I even met him I was prepared to…well, not like him. But, from what I did know of him, I almost feel as though I am now…missing something." She scoffed, looking down at the wedding ring Nelaros had placed on her finger before his death. "It's strange. How can I be missing something I never had?"

Her eyes were turned back to the conies, watching the flames lick up to the greasy flesh. She didn't really expect an answer from Duncan; how could he answer something like that? Did he know anything of loss? She presumed so. What warrior - especially one from an order more dedicated to others than any other she had heard of - would not know of loss. She knew Maric had known loss; Loghain she was certain of it. Her mother? Yes, from what she remembered, most definitely yes. She looked back over to the warden. "I apologize, Duncan. It's an unfair question, especially when taken out of context." She pulled the spit from the flames, resting the rabbits on the hot stone. She heard Duncan shuffle behind her, and felt his strong hand on her shoulder. Tearing her gaze from the flames, she was startled to see such an expression of sympathy radiating from those dark, intense eyes. "I can tell you, from experience, my dear girl," his voice laden with emotion he thought long buried, "it is more than possible to mourn the loss of something, especially when you believe you never had it."

Biting her lip, she nodded, reaching up to pat the hand that had remained on her shoulder. Then, with a slight quirk of her eyebrows, she turned her attention back to the conies. Duncan moved back to his seat, and watched silently as she pulled two off from the spit and placed them on a plate, handing it to him. "I can't vouch for my open fire culinary skills, but, I'm certain they're edible." With a small smile, she pulled one off for herself, settling on the ground, her back against the log Duncan sat upon. Stunned by his own reaction to Adela's question, Fereldan's Commander of the Grey ate in silence, his eyes staring, unseeing, into the flames of the fire.


	6. Chapter 6

_Okay, okay, here is the usual disclaimer: I own nothing save for Adela (well and maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_As stated before, I'm not going canon with the game or the books - just a slight twist to make things fit to my story. _

_And, thanks for the reviews! Biff McLauglin, mutive, patbaking, zevgirl. They help keep me going knowing that some of you find it interesting. And, also I've noticed a few others have been placing the story (and me!) on their favorites list. Thank you so much!_

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 6_

The great ruins of Ostagar came into view ahead, the ancient Tevinter fortress sprawling over several acres bordering the Korcari Wilds. Even at that distance and despite centuries of abandonment, the ancient power of the Tevinter Imperium almost radiated from the structure, chilling Adela to her core. Realizing her steps had slowed and Duncan continued his brisk pace, the young woman quickened her pace to catch up to the man.

Duncan glanced sideways at the girl, a small grin on his face. Adela huffed a bit. "Yes, very funny. You keep forgetting that I'm an elf, and a small one at that. I practically have to run to keep up with you and your overly long legs!"

The commander's grin widened into a true smile, and then he stepped off the path, pulling his pack off. Confused, Adela stepped to his side and slid her own pack from her shoulders. Her shoulder muscles practically rejoiced as the weight was removed and she stretched and flexed her shoulders, neck and arms to keep them from getting stiff. "Why are we stopping here?" she asked. She figured another hour or two of walking and they would enter the huge fortress looming ahead.

Merely raising a finger, encouraging patience, Duncan turned around in time to watch a large, bear like man emerge from the surrounding trees. Adela was impressed: the newcomer was easily the largest man she had ever seen, not just in height but breadth. A heavy full beard of red covered the lower half of his face, with shaggy red hair covering much of the upper half. From beneath heavy brows bright blue eyes glimmered with mirth. He was dressed in fur and leather armor, and carried upon his back a huge greatsword. The two men greeted each other, embracing and clapping each other soundly on the backs. Adela suppressed a giggle when she noted that the bear-man's clap staggered Duncan.

Pulling away, the newcomer's sharp eyes settled upon the diminutive form of the elven woman, skimming over her form from head to toe and then back to her face. "This yer new recruit?" he all but growled out in a deep, rumbling voice like an earthquake.

Nodding, Duncan replied, "Artan, this is Adela. Our newest recruit." The commander stepped closer to the elf, allowing his familiar presence to bolster her nerves. The other man - Artan - scoffed, lunged forward and grabbed one of the girl's hands in his huge paws, encompassing her hand and half of her forearm. "Good to know ya," he responded, his eyes still on her face, almost searching. A moment of recognition came over his face and he looked back at Duncan, still holding Adela's hand.

"You know, Duncan, the girly here looks jus' like that uppity Dalish woman," he rumbled, looking back at the girl.

"Indeed she does, Artan," Duncan replied, "This is Adela _Mahariel _Tabris, Adaia's daughter."

With a "humph!" he let go of her hand, placing both meaty fists on his hips, and continued to appraise the young elf before him. "Well, well, well…can she fight like her ma?" His eyes went specifically to the bow on her back.

A chuckle and Duncan replied, "I'm not certain I'd say she fights like her mother, no. But, she does have a style that is quite effective."

"She's rather scrawny, ain't she?" the bear-man continued, his eyes losing their mirth and becoming hard in their scrutiny of her. Adela continued to meet his gaze, fighting down the unease rising in her stomach. Could she actually be turned away from the Wardens before even getting to the joining? She honestly did not know how she felt about that possibility.

But Duncan was confident in his newest recruit, and let Artan know as much. "She may be small, my friend, but she's a good head on her shoulders, and has the skill necessary to either avoid a fight or get herself out of trouble with words or blade. She's exactly the kind of Warden we need. You know," He grinned, nudging his friend, "she _thinks_. Not all brute strength." Artan looked up and met Duncan's eyes, clearly seeing the hidden meaning behind the gaze. Artan knew what Duncan was about and trusted in his instincts. Shrugging his massive shoulders, Duncan's second met the girl's eyes, gave her a wink, and then turned his full attention to his commander.

Adela stood aside as Duncan gave his second instructions and then handed him a rolled parchment with instructions to give it to Alistair. The giant of a man chuckled at the mention of the junior Warden, and Duncan gave the man a hard look. "Sure, sure, Duncan, no worries," he grumbled at his commander. Then, with a deep bow to Adela, the huge man stepped back into the forest, blending effortlessly into the shadows, and left without a sound.

Adela simply could not hide her appreciation of the man's talents, gave a low whistle and turned back to Duncan. "For such a huge, seemingly ungainly human, he certainly moves like an elf," she complimented. Duncan nodded. "He was raised amongst the Chasind folk," he told her as he picked up his pack, indicating for her to do likewise. "They know these wilds like the backs of their hands, and Artan is no different. He's an excellent scout, and a good man. Perhaps a bit rough around the edges, but there are few better to have clearing the way through a mass of darkspawn." After they adjusted their packs, the pair stepped back onto the King's Highway and continued their trek to the ruins.

DA:O

A couple of hours later, and the travelers were standing before the entryway into the ruins. Adela had stopped, her gaze moving upwards, and upwards still, taking in the sheer enormity of the fortress itself. Duncan stopped, and watched as the elf took in her surroundings, smiling at the bemused expression upon her face. High stone walls reached up toward the sky, their jagged edges creating a false horizon. Where once ceilings had protected the stone floor, now only open sky could be seen. High arches indicated where doorways once stood, and in the distance towers could be seen, piercing into the sky. Taking in a deep breath and letting it slowly out, Adela stepped under the first arch and into Ostagar. As they walked along the uneven stones of the pathway, Duncan pointed toward a ramp to their right. "That is the Tower of Ishal," he explained. "It is named for its architect and was considered quite a marvel of architecture in its day." Adela merely nodded and smiled, her eyes still roaming the ruins, taking in each detail, memorizing it for future work. _If I even ever have a chance to sculpt again_, she thought, a sense of loss sweeping over her.

As that thought hit her, they stepped out into an open courtyard. She looked up as a familiar voice penetrated the brief moment of self-pity that came over her. She could see a familiar form, clad in golden armor, rush over to them. Cailan headed directly to Duncan, not yet seeing the small elven woman standing slightly behind the Warden.

"Duncan!" Cailan clapped the older man on the shoulder, his face an open expression of awe, relief and gratitude for the Warden's presence. "I was just thinking we would need to send out a search party for you!" His voice as jovial as ever, a wide smile on his face, Cailan looked almost like a boy meeting a childhood hero. _Perhaps he is_, Adela thought, grinning over at her friend.

Duncan chuckled at the king's joviality, "No need for anything of the sort, Your Majesty," the Warden replied with a slight bow. "This is one battle we could not afford to miss."

Shaking his head, with an answering chuckle on his lips, Cailan smiled as he started to turn towards the woman standing behind Duncan, "No, no need for that. I have heard that you have found a promising recruit?" His eyes then fully on Adela, the smile vanished, and the friendly look in his blue eyes faded. "Adela?" he questioned, stepping around the Warden to stand before his young friend. "What?" Then, anger clouded his face as he shook his head, rounding on the Commander of the Grey. "Duncan! What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, one hand reaching over to grasp Adela firmly by the arm in a protective, brotherly fashion as he turned his anger upon the elder Warden.

"Your majesty, Adela has been recruited into the Wardens," Duncan calmly advised the young king, a little taken aback by the strong negative reaction the king met him with. But Cailan would hear nothing of it. "No." he said firmly, pulling a grimacing Adela forward, "No, I won't allow it. You cannot recruit Adela into the Wardens." Adela's brows rose at the sheer intensity of the king's voice.

"Your majesty…" Duncan began but Adela cut in, pulling her arm free of Cailan's grasp. "Cailan, I've been conscripted in the Wardens, and I will gladly serve…" she ended the sentence with a slight squeak as Cailan's hands landed firmly on her shoulders, giving her a shake. "You are not a warrior, Adela!" he all but shouted. "You are an artist," his hands moved from her shoulders to her hands, pulling them up. "Duncan, have you even looked at her hands? They are soft, the hands of an artist, someone who creates! Not the hands of a warrior!"

But Duncan would not hear of that. Shaking his head, he calmly replied, "Your majesty. You are wrong. Our young Adela here is more than an artist, more than a warrior. She has courage and a good sense of people. We need people just like her in the Wardens, and," this time Duncan stepped forward, pulled Adela from Cailan's grasp and moving her behind him. He met the king's eyes unflinchingly and calmly reminded the young king, "she has been conscripted, and even the King cannot deny the Grey Wardens Right of Conscription." Duncan felt regret form in his chest. Cailan was an ardent supporter of the Wardens, and he did not wish to alienate him. However, Adela was an excellent recruit, one he was willing to fight for to keep for the order.

Cailan met Duncan's eyes, so unflinching, determined to get his way in this. Concerned by the turn of events, Adela stepped forward, between the men breaking the ongoing war of wills, and placed a hand on Cailan's chest. The human king looked down upon his elven friend. "Cailan, I thought you worshiped the Wardens?" there was a teasing quality in her voice, and it helped to calm the irate man somewhat. "Now this way you can worship me."

But Cailan was not in a good humor. "Adela, do you know what this means?" he asked quietly. "You'll be spending the rest of your life fighting, killing, _destroying_. That's not you. You create; you preserve. This is not the life for someone like you." All Cailan could do was hope his young friend would understand, ask for sanctuary from the conscription. He would gladly go against the Wardens to keep her from that life. He was utterly dismayed when the only reply he got from her was a gentle shake of her blonde head. "Anora will _kill _me if anything happens to you," he pleaded, the last card he had in hopes of changing the woman's mind. A sharp little giggle, a sad smile, and Adela reached up and placed a calming hand on her friend's cheek, "How about you just send her in Duncan's direction and she can kill _him _instead?" she joked. Duncan raised an eyebrow at that comment, chuckled quietly, and said nothing. The king and elf's eyes remained pinned to each other, and then finally Cailan sputtered out a bitter sigh, and looked down. He clasped Adela's tiny hands in his own, and then turned to the Warden Commander.

"I apologize for my outburst, Duncan," the king apologized. "I was taken aback by this news."

Feeling the tension slip from him (he had no desire for a confrontation with the king in regards to the conscription issue), Duncan nodded. "It is understandable." He placed an affectionate hand on Adela's shoulder. "You would be surprised just how skillful with blade and bow this little lady is."

"How did you come to be conscripted?" Cailan asked of Adela. She looked down at her feet, shuffling uncomfortably. "That, Cailan, is a discussion for another time." She looked up, straight into his eyes. "I promise." Cailan studied Adela's face. Then, nodding, accepting that answer (_for now_), he then turned back to Duncan.

As the two men discussed the situation, with Duncan mentioning the Arl of Redcliffe, Cailan chuckling in reply, Adela looked about her. The guards that surrounded Cailan (and heard the whole discussion regarding her conscription! She groaned at that little bit of gossip she was certain would get around) stood at attention, trying to blend in to the surroundings. She didn't recognize any of them, and so let her gaze wander around. Cailan's next words caught her attention.

"But we've yet to see the Archdemon. I'm not even certain this is a real Blight," there was strong disappointment in his fine voice, and Duncan picked up and commented upon that.

"Disappointed, your majesty?" Did Adela note a tone of amusement in his voice?

"Well, yes," came the quick reply, "I was hoping for a battle like the old tales: the king riding into battle with the Grey Wardens to defeat the Blight in one fell swoop." Adela nearly cringed at the hope and awe that was heavy in his voice. "It would be _glorious_!"

"Your majesty," Duncan tentatively started, "I am certain that the Archdemon will show itself in time. If you could hold off until the Wardens from Orlais were to arrive…"

But Cailan wasn't hearing it. "We have won every battle thus far and this next will be no different." Conviction rang heavy in his voice, and if Adela had not spent the past three weeks traveling with Duncan, she well could believe it. As it was, base dupon the conversations she and Duncan shared during the journey, she was fairly certain that the previous battles had just been preliminary, and that the war against this Blight - and she had no reason to doubt it, despite the non-appearance of the Archdemon - was far from over.

Duncan tried to continue, but Cailan held up an impatient hand, "I'm sorry Duncan, but I must cut this short." he turned to Adela, "Adela, my friend, please come with me. I have something to discuss with you."

With a look to Duncan, Adela responded, "Just a moment, Cailan. I need to speak with Duncan first."

Nodding his assent, the king moved away with his guards in tow, to stand, waiting, at one of the ramps which, undoubtedly, lead to where his camp was. While Duncan chuckled at the thought that the King of Fereldan would wait by word of an elven artisan, Adela was frowning, and Duncan took note. "You noticed it too," the Warden stated. Nodding, she replied, "I don't think Cailan is taking this very seriously."

"No, he is not."

Her frown deepened. Taking a breath, "Well, Cailan obviously has something to speak with me about. Hopefully he's not going to try and talk me out of joining the Wardens. But, if he tries to pull the 'Anora will be so upset' tactic with me again, I will pull his braids!" That visual in mind, Duncan allowed himself another chuckle. "What do you need me to do, after my talk with the king?" Adela asked the man who would be her commander. "Take some time," the Warden instructed. "Take your armor to the quartermaster and have it resized, restock your supplies," he held up his hand to her expected protest that she had no coin. "Just set it to the Warden account." His gaze shifted to the king, and then beyond, further into the ruins. "Adjust yourself to the new surroundings, get something to eat. Once you're settled a bit, seek out Alistair. He'll be assigned to help guide you."

Grinning, Adela responded, "Ah yes, the one with the unnatural love of cheese." Duncan returned her grin, patted her softly on the shoulder, and then left. As he passed by Cailan, he offered another polite bow and then continued into the ruins. Taking a moment to collect herself, taking another calming breath, the elf turned and walked over to where Cailan waited. The young king turned concerned eyes upon his young friend, took her arm and silently led her to where his encampment was located, in the western part of the ruins.

The pair, flanked by Cailan's bodyguards, was hard not to notice as they made their way over the bridge connecting the entrance of the ruins to the main square. Many eyed the small, beautiful elven woman the king kept a firm grip upon. Some smirked, others shook their heads. But all bowed respectfully as their king passed by. Up another set of steps, and turning to their left, the pair and their escort entered the royal encampment. As Cailan was about to pull Adela into his tent, the girl stopped, shaking her head. Cailan, confused, looked down at her. With a wave, he motioned for his guards to step back and away.

"What, Adela?" Cailan asked.

Letting out a gusty sigh, Adela replied, "Is there somewhere else we can talk?" she lifted her blue eyes to Cailan's. "I've…well, I've come to know that there are certain…rumors floating around regarding you and I and I'd just as soon not feed the gossip." Adela's face flushed with embarrassment. She knew very well that those rumors - as well as others that suggested Cailan was unfaithful to Anora - were untrue and completely unfounded. However, she had no wish to fuel the fires as a target to some of those rumors.

Cailan's face darkened. He, too, had heard various little snippets that questioned his devotion and love for his wife. Loghain himself had even once questioned him! But, he had not known that their friend here - their honorable friend who had never asked anything of the royal pair other than their friendship - was part of those rumors, and this sudden knowledge did nothing to relieve the tension he was already feeling. He had considered granting her request, but thought better of it. Why fan the flames by avoiding a situation they normally would find themselves in? With a shake of his head, he said, "Come now, Adela. If you did not know of these rumors, would you have any trepidation coming inside?" He smiled as Adela shook her head. "Well, then, fine. Just because we know doesn't make them true, right?" Again, another shake. "Sooo? It's comfortable inside." He grinned, teasing her. "There's a nice, comfy chair that normally only I get to sit in, but I may let you." He tilted her face upwards, and was rewarded with a grin.

"Fine, fine, you big baby," she swatted his hands away. And followed Cailan into the tent.

The tent was huge - a pavilion really, with curtains sectioning off a private area from the main chamber. In that chamber stood a table covered with maps and other parchments, several wooden chairs, and - oh yes - the comfy chair Cailan promised. With a grin, the elven woman practically jumped into the chair, and then, with an imperiously graceful wave of her hand, motioned for the king to sit. Laughing, Cailan pulled one of the chairs closed and took a seat beside his friend. His face quickly took on a thoughtful expression, one the elf knew well. So, she sat patiently as he gathered his thoughts.

"Adela," Cailan began, almost tentatively, as though unsure of his own thoughts, "when was the last time you had seen Loghain?"

Surprised by this question, she paused before answering, thinking. "Well…I had seen him several times prior to your leaving. But, always in a distance and never to speak. So, I suppose, if your question is when was the last time I spoke or interacted with Loghain, it would have to be the night of dinner after the last Landsmeet."

A slow, steady nod of his head, Cailan sat silent for a moment. "So, you hadn't spoken to him since then." It was not a question, more akin to his adjusting this information into whatever he needed to discuss with Adela. The line of his mouth bent downwards slightly. With a deep breath, he continued, "I know this will sound strange, but, I have cause to be…concerned about Loghain." He looked over at his friend, gratified to have her full attention. If anyone could help him puzzle this out, he was certain it was Adela.

"Why concerned?" she asked, prompting him to continue. Her question met with a shrug, and a confused, uncertain look in his eyes.

"I can't really put my finger on it," he answered. "Anora's noticed it as well, although neither of us can say for certain what, exactly the issue is. He seems distant…" Adela snorted at this, but he continued, "No, Adela, more distant than usual. And, there have been moments of…confusion." Exasperated, the young king threw himself off the chair and onto his feet, flinging his hands upwards. "I just don't know. It's more of a feeling, really, than anything either of us can put a finger on." He turned back to Adela, noting the concern that now eclipsed her face. "Loghain is here, of course. Over in the next encampment. I want you to go over there and talk with him. See if you notice anything." His eyes were pleading. He knew that Adela wasn't particularly comfortable in Loghain's presence, although he knew that discomfort had been waning over the past few months. And, other than Cailan and Anora, she was the only person alive who knew the _real _Loghain, one of the few people Loghain _ever _let his guard down in front of. Cailan's hope was that she would be able to pinpoint what was wrong with Loghain or tell Cailan he and Anora are worrying over nothing.

Adela studied Cailan's pained expression for several moments. Then, rising from the chair, she placed her hands on his arms. "Okay, Cailan. If you and Anora think that something is wrong, I'll see if I can spot what it may be." She shrugged. "It could just well be the darkspawn uprising is causing unrest and he's just reacting to it."

Nodding his golden head, the tension seemed to ease a bit from the king. He had no idea how tense he had been about this. "Thanks, Adela. I appreciate it. Just talk with him. But, don't come back here right away. I don't want it to seem like we're working against Loghain," he noted Adela's frown at that. "If something's up, we need to be careful. Go about what you were doing before, and then come back later on. Maybe have dinner with me?" He was practically pleading.

Helpless against the little boy expression that came across Cailan's handsome face, Adela held up her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. I do have other things to do in the meantime. Like, get my armor refitted, locate Alistair…"

Cailan's head lifted. "Alistair?"

The elf nodded her blonde head, "Yes. He's the junior Grey Warden and I'm to locate him. He's to be my guide in all things Grey Warden." Her eyes caught Cailan's. "Why? Do you know Alistair?"

The king shrugged, hating to lie to his friend. "A bit. Not very well, actually. I understand he's a good man…"

"With an unholy love of cheese," Adela finished with a chuckle.

"Wait. Did I hear you needed to get your armor adjusted?" Cailan smoothly changed the subject. Adela nodded again. "Why not buy new?" he asked.

"It's Mother's armor," she replied, and that answered everything. "It's a bit large, so Duncan suggested I give it over to the quartermaster for resizing. I'll most likely need it if I'm going to be seeing any battle." she purposefully ignored the wince that crossed Cailan's face. She was not going to have this argument again.

"Well, wait a moment…" Cailan went to the table, pulled out a piece of parchment and hastily scribbled something on it. Rolling it, he sealed it with wax, pressing his signet ring into it before it hardened. "Here," he handed the rolled parchment to the elf. "Give this to the quartermaster. It's instruction to make the repair of your armor priority." He raised a hand as Adela started to protest. "As you say, if you're here, and you're determined to fight, you will need armor. And, knowing how busy the quartermaster and his staff are, you may not get it in time. This way," he rapped the parchment against the side of his head, "you will."

Taking the parchment, Adela thanked her friend. Cailan placed his hands on his friend's shoulders, his blue eyes intense, friendly. "While I'm not glad you are here," he started, "I am glad that you are _here_." He pulled her in for a quick hug, and then released her, turning her toward the exit.

She stood outside the tent for a moment, trying to decide what, exactly, she should do first. Then, straightening her back, she decided to get her conversation with Loghain over first. With a slight nod to the guard nearest the tent entrance, she walked toward the Teryn's camp site, just across the walkway.

Adela did not recognize the guard standing outside the tent, but she was not as familiar with Loghain's guards as she was with those who served at the palace. This one watched her approach with barely concealed disdain.

"Halt!" he called out, an arrogant tone to his voice. _Wonderful_. "You approach the camp of Teryn Loghain. State your business or be off with you."

She stopped, frowning slightly. _Okay_…"My name is Adela Tabris, and I'd like to speak with…"

"Ha!" the man took a menacingly step forward, trying to intimate the slight elf with his superior size. "What makes you think that you, an _elf_, can request an audience with the Teryn?"

"Because she happens to be a friend of the family," can a dry, unamused voice from behind the guard. His eyes widened, the guard hastily took a step back to his post. "I apologize, my Lord. I had not known…" he started, but the Teryn cut him off. "Regardless, you should try and treat others a bit more respectfully," Loghain admonished the man as he took a step forward, taking Adela's hand in his. "This girl could have been anyone with an important message." Nodding in assent, the guard raised his head and resumed his duties. Without another word, the Teryn of Gwaren led Adela into his tent.

Adela stepped behind Loghain as he pulled the flap of the tent closed. She noted a confused expression on his face as he turned his attention toward her. _He could be confused as to why I'm here_, she reminded herself, trying to keep Cailan's concerned words from her head.

Moving past her, Loghain went to the room's center table. "I must admit, Adela," he turned back to her, "I am rather surprised to find you here, at Ostagar of all places."

Biting her lower lip, she shrugged her shoulders, "Well, that is a long story, Loghain. It would seem that I've been conscripted into the Grey Wardens." She watched his reaction change from confusion to almost outright fury.

"What!" _Oh dear, was she going to have to argue with him, too? _"Adela! How did this come about?" he demanded, stepping closer to her.

Still not quite ready to discuss what happened at the Arl's estate, Adela merely replied, "I…ran into a problem in Denerim, and Duncan conscripting me was the only way out."

A dark brow rose, "What kind of a problem?" Icy blue eyes, intense, caught Adela. As was usually the case, she found it difficult to break the contact. She frowned. "I…ended up killing some humans in self defense. The law is clear, though, and Duncan intervened before I could be taken to Fort Drakon."

The scowl deepened. "You killed someone?" Adela nodded. Shaking his head, turning around, he crossed his arms before his chest. _Adela killed someone_? He could scarce believe it. He turned back. "In self defense?" he prompted.

The girl nodded. As the Teryn digested this, she watched him carefully. She saw nothing that would make her think anything was amiss. He reacted fairly much as she expected him to. "Adela, why would the Grey Wardens conscript you?" his question snapped her attention away from her thoughts.

A self deprecating smile twitched her lips. "Duncan tells me I'm just what the Wardens need." She grinned impishly, and was rewarded with a scoffing noise. "Ha! Duncan is just pleased to get his hands on a Mahariel!" He stepped forward, his clear blue eyes still retaining that intense look. "You are no warrior, Adela."

She stepped back, feeling a slight tug of anger growing in her chest. "You know, I had this very same lecture from Cailan, and I'm really not in the mood for another." she stood defiant, glaring at the Teryn. "Mother trained me; I have continued to train. I can use a bow nearly as well as she could, and I am well versed in the use of daggers. No, I would prefer not to be a warrior to fight, but I am capable and I wish people would stop telling me what I can and cannot do!" Loghain blinked, forcing away the traitorous smile that threatened to cross his lips. He always knew Adela had spirit, but he had never seen her as impassioned as she was now. As he admired the girl before him, Adela noted a quick, almost imperceptible change: his normally clear, icy blue eyes clouded slightly, giving them an almost milky quality. His face almost blanked. But, then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone. Had she not been especially watchful, the shift would have been unperceivable. _What was that_?

Shaking his head, Loghain stepped forward, taking the girl's hands in his, his voice soft. "Calm, Adela. I meant no disrespect." He took a breath, his voice taking on its usual strength. "The Wardens are fortunate to have someone who is known more for her thinking than bashing things, that much is for certain." His gaze took on its usual intensity, and Adela had to wonder if she had imagined things. "I am certain Cyrion is not pleased with this turn of events?"

Adela shook her head, "Not really."

"What happened?" Loghain quietly asked, searching her face. But the girl remained resolute in not discussing it. "I am not ready to talk about it, Loghain. And, most certainly not with you," she pointed out, stepping back. Loghain frowned, realizing that the issue had to be very serious for her to say such a thing. "Perhaps with Anora?" he prompted. She merely shrugged her shoulders, indicating the matter was no longer up for discussion. He took the hint, and backed off from the subject.

Still watching Loghain, Adela had to admit to an uneasiness regarding him. He had not said or done anything to indicate anything was wrong. But that slight shift in his face was a cause for concern. What it could mean, however, was very much beyond her knowledge and experience. And, she was not going to discuss it with anyone other than Cailan at this juncture. It could be nothing. It could be tension regarding the darkspawn as she had thought. Sighing, she spoke again, "I have some errands to run, my Lord…" She offered an almost defiant grin. "Armor to adjust, Wardens to find." She moved toward the tent's exit. Loghain moved to her side, looking down at the tiny elf. "Do you think you'll be on the front lines?" The question startled her momentarily. She shrugged, "I truly do not know. I don't think that my abilities are front line worthy, but that will be Duncan's call." She looked up into the concerned gaze of the older man. She frowned slightly, said her goodbyes and left the tent. Loghain had not said a word as she departed.

Frown still in place, with a final glance back to the tent entrance, she walked away, unable to shake the feeling that perhaps Cailan and Anora were correct in their assessment that something _was _wrong with Teryn Loghain.


	7. Chapter 7

_Same old, same old: I own nothing save for Adela (well and maybe her stylized halla figurine, although I seem to recall Loghain pocketing that. *shrugs* go figure). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_As stated before, I'm not going canon with the game or the books - just a slight twist to make things fit to my story. _

_Also, I've updated and corrected some typos in the previous chapters. My thanks to Biff McLaughlin who pointed out a bit of confusion as to the time line. I hope I've fixed that (Chapter 1 is 2 years prior to the origins events; chapter 2 a week prior, chapter 3 a day prior, and then moving on in the present). As always, reviews are welcome; and I also appreciate constructive criticism. How else can I improve my writing?_

_And, thanks for the reviews! O.G. Green, Kira Tamarian, mutive, Bigg McLaughlin. They help keep me going knowing that some of you find it interesting. I've noticed a few others have been placing the story (and me!) on their favorites/alert lists. Thank you so much! Sometimes I need that ego boost!_

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 7_

Loghain stared at the flap allowing egress into his tent. _Adela is here_?_ In Ostagar?_ The thought brought a slight groan to his lips, and he turned away, frustrated and angry at this turn of events. _She should not be here! Damn that Duncan_! He spied his table - piles of parchments and maps neatly stacked, one large map encompassing the ruins of Ostagar spread out over the rest. Moving over to the table, he let his eyes settle on the chalk marks - gold - indicating what Cailan and the royal troops would set their front lines. Further to the south was marked in white chalk where Loghain and his troops would await the signal to come in and flank the enemy forces, sandwiching the monsters between the two forces. The plan had merit save for one blaring weakness: because of Loghain's vantage - or rather lack thereof - they needed to depend upon the beacon in the Tower of Ishal to be lit so that the general would know when to send in his troops. Loghain would have to send one of his soldiers in to do so. He leaned over the map, nodding his head, forcing all thoughts of the elven girl from his mind.

DA:O

Adela wandered through the camp, searching for the quartermaster's stall. She did not notice the appreciative glances tossed her way or the lingering gazes. She paused briefly by the platform upon which stood a priest, quoting the Chant of Light, offering up prayers for the few soldiers who stood or knelt on the ground below. Adela believed in the Maker, but also revered the gods of her mother's people - the Creators. Of those gods, Adela revered June, God of Craft. She dipped to her knees, offered a brief prayer of thanks to both the Maker and June, and then rose to continue on her search for stall.

Finally, she spotted the area that had to the quartermaster - what with all the armaments and other various supplies strewn about. Pulling off her pack, she entered the area, starting to pull her mother's armor from the depths.

"Er! You there!" the man who had to be the quartermaster shouted at her, his hands waving wildly at her. "Where you been, girl! Where's the armor you was to deliver? And," he scowled, "why are you dressed so preposterously?"

Taken aback, Adela glanced down at her breeches and tunic. _Preposterously? What? _Shaking her head, she opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted. "I was talkin' to you, girl!" the quartermaster continued.

"Now just wait a moment, sir!" Adela found her voice. "I am unsure as to what you are talking about. Do you think I'm one of your servants?"

The balding man took a step back, this time actually looking at the girl before him. It was then he noticed the elegantly curved bow on her back and the pair of fine daggers sheathed at her hips. _Oh_…"I apologize," he mumbled. "All you elves look alike to me."

Fine brows rose at that. "Hmm…well, if you must know, I am a Grey Warden recruit." She actually took satisfaction in watching the man pale a bit. _He was rude to a Grey Warden?_ She continued. "And," she pulled her armor out of the pack, "I have armor here that I need adjusted to my size." She took a measuring look of the man. "You can accommodate this request, correct?" She did not notice the dark young man who stood beside the stall, now watching the exchange with cheerful interest. She did take note of the quartermaster's nod. "Fine. Here." She handed him the armor.

The man stared at the pieces of armor she handed to him, a frown furrowing his brow. "Two pieces?" He looked up.

"Its Dalish armor," she advised him, now concerned about her mother's armor. "It's in two pieces to allow more freedom of movement. You've probably noticed that women are built differently than men?" She quirked up one brow; the man nodded numbly. "Well, because our muscle structure is different, and for those of us who rely on agility and dexterity as opposed to brute strength, we need to be able to move. This," a sweep of her hand indicated the armor the man now held. "allows for that freedom of movement." She looked up and smiled into the man's dazed brown eyes. _Win them over with bullshit_, she smirked as Shianni's words came to mind. "Now, can you make the adjustments?" She smiled sweetly at him.

The quartermaster nodded. "I'll just need to size it to you. Please, please step this way."

Adela followed the man around a corner, where he took each piece of armor and held it up against the girl. After muttering some, making a few marks on the armor with some chalk, he nodded.

"I can have it to you in a few days," he said as he set the armor aside. But, Adela shook her head, handing over Cailan's parchment. "I'm sorry, my good man, but I need it in a few hours. Here," she placed the scroll in the man's hands. She watched, slightly amused, as he read the king's commandment. He looked up at the elven girl and then back down at the scroll, king's seal and all, and then back at the girl. Then, with a snarling growl, he said he'd have it done in a few hours, and suggested she leave him be so he could get to work.

"Oh, wait," she halted the man. "May I see your wares?" she fluttered her eyelashes, well aware the man was annoyed with her. It worked. "I need some arrows. Oh! And, do you happen to have any cheese…?" she chattered as she followed the man through the stall.

After making several purchases, remembering to put them all on the Grey Warden account, Adela walked from the stall, tucking her prizes into her pack and slinging a quiver full of arrows over her shoulder.

The dark man who had been watching the exchange sidled up beside Adela. "So," he chuckled in a friendly, smooth voice, "got to put that fool in his place, did ya?"

Glancing up at the man, Adela turned fully toward him. "Who might you be?" she asked, stepping back from him. He had been standing far too close for her comfort.

"Me? Name's Daveth." He puffed his chest out. "I'm a Grey Warden." he bragged.

"Oh really?" Adela smiled. "Well, I'm a recruit, just arrived with Duncan." she held out a small hand. "I look forward to joining your order."

Daveth's entire countenance and posture relaxed, and genuine pleased smile crossed his lips, softening his face a bit. "So, you're the new recruit are you? Well, so am I. I'm not a Warden yet." he eyed her critically, taking her hand in a firm shake. "'Bout time you showed up. Was startin' to get bored, what with only some uppity knight to talk with."

Laughing as she released Daveth's hand, Adela introduced herself. "I don't suppose you know anything about the joining?" She had to ask. She was so curious about the darned thing, especially since Duncan wouldn't say a word about it. She was disappointed when Daveth shook his head.

"Sorry, but no. Only thing I could figure is that we're gonna be sent into the Wilds."

"The Wilds?"

Daveth nodded sagely, "Oy, yeah. I grew up around here, been in the Wilds a time or two meself. Kinda creepy what with witches and barbarians and such. But, I gather it's some kind of a test." The man watched the elf carefully. She didn't seem too concerned, which was fine by him. At least she wasn't a coward. _And, she's pretty_. He grinned. _Very pretty. Maybe…._

"Well," Adela spoke, shaking Daveth from his thoughts. "I suppose we'll find out later. Now, I need to find the Warden called Alistair."

A bark of laughter came from Daveth. "Oh, yeah. You'll find him thata way," he waved and pointed up the ramp slightly behind them. Tapping his nose, he added, "You'll know him when you see him, trust me." Then, grabbing her hand and kissing it lightly, the rogue bounded off.

Shaking her head in bemusement, certain that Daveth had to be the biggest character she had ever met outside of Denerim, she turned about and headed up the ramp. To her left she spied elves hurrying to get a table set up along one end of the hall. To her right, was another ramp, from which emanated the sound of an angry male voice. Intrigued, she turned and headed up the ramp.

Standing several yards ahead of her stood two men: one a mage dressed in a robe with a staff slung across his back. He was the angry one. And the other, a handsome young man with reddish blond hair and an open, friendly smile, dressed in splintmail carrying a sword and shield on his back, was the target of the mage's ire. As she neared, she could hear quite clearly as the 'argument' continued.

"Haven't the Grey Wardens asked enough of the Circle?" the mage demanded, his posture with crossed arms and too straight back indicating an extremely aggressive stance.

"I apologize, Ser Mage, but the Revered Mother asked me to present you with this message," the young man, completely unperturbed, maintained a relaxed stance, clear amusement showing in his amber eyes. He spotted Adela and shot her a quick, good natured wink before turning his attention fully back to the irate mage before him.

"I care little for what that woman wants. Have you nothing better to do than to harass me?" he demanded.

The man - apparently a Grey Warden - responded, his warm, educated voice taking on a slightly snide tone, "Yes, I was harassing you by delivering a message." He crossed his arms, obviously getting tired of this exchange.

"Bah!" the mage scoffed, "Get out of my way, fool!" he shoved passed, nearly knocking Adela from her feet. The younger man shot a nasty look over at the mage while reaching over to take hold of Adela's arm, steadying her. "You could be more polite!" he shouted at the retreating back of the mage, "Or at least apologize!". The man either did not hear him or choose to ignore him as he continued on his way.

Releasing Adela's arm, the young man turned fully to the girl, "You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it pulls people together."

He said it so deadpanned Adela just stared for a moment and then said, "I beg your pardon?"

But he just chuckled. "Oh, you know! It's all one big party, and the darkspawn are invited. We could hold hands and sing campfire songs," he wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "One big happy family!"

Giggling, shaking her head, Adela replied, "You are one very strange human. You are aware of that, correct?" she teased.

If he was offended, it did not show. Not with his smile widening. "You know, you're not the first woman to tell me that." He then took a step back and really looked at the elf before him. _Maker_, he thought, feeling a bit of tightness in his throat, _she's soooo_….

"…Adela," she was saying, holding out one tiny hand toward him. The young man merely stared at the proffered hand. Adela sighed, reaching out and tapping him on the chest. "Hello?" she looked up, her bluest of blue eyes gazing up into his amber. _He has nice eyes_, she thought. "I said my name is Adela, I'm the recruit that recently arrived with Duncan."

"Oh! What? Oh yes, sorry," the man blushed as he focused on the blue (_wow! They are really blue_) eyes. "Yes, sorry. Ahmm…my name is Alistair," he managed to get out. "I'm the junior Grey Warden and it will be my duty to escort you about and settle you into being a Grey Warden."

"Greetings, Alistair. Duncan has told me some about you," she smiled. _She has such a pretty smile._ "I'm very pleased to finally meet you."

"Oh, what? Duncan's mentioned me?" he blushed as the elven girl nodded. "I hope he didn't say anything too bad." _How come Duncan didn't mention in his missive that she was pretty?_

Her laughter was like a tiny bell chiming, and Alistair found he liked the sound of it greatly. _The new recruit is a pretty - no beautiful - girl_, he thought, _with a nice smile and pretty laugh_.

"Oh, don't worry, Alistair. Duncan said only the best about everyone."

_Oh_. "Well, I'm glad to hear that." He looked thoughtful. "You know, it's just occurred to me that there have hardly been any women in the Grey Wardens." He frowned. "I wonder why that is." he mused.

The right brow going up, a smirk on her face, Adela queried playfully, "Oh? And you want more women in the Wardens, do you?"

Alistair smirked right back at her, "Now would that be so bad? Not that I'm some drooling lecher or something," he smiled as both of her brows rose, "Please don't look at me like that!"

"Well, Alistair, the not-drooling-lecher," Adela's smile widened. She felt completely comfortable with Alistair and was a bit amazed at herself for flirting - _flirting _- with him. "Might I ask what that argument was about?" she really was curious.

"Oh, that…" He glanced quickly behind him, making certain the uppity mage was long gone. "Well, I was asked by the Revered Mother to deliver a message, and Duncan said we're all supposed to get along, so I did." he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "Trouble is…" his eyes met hers honestly, flinching just a bit at their intensity, "I used to be a Templar, and that tends to cause some…friction between me and the mages."

Adela was stunned. This jovial, friendly man was a mage-hunter? "Well, I can certainly see how that could cause some…awkwardness."

The young Warden nodded, appreciating her words, "Yes, well. I get the feeling that the Revered Mother simply had me deliver the message as an insult to the mage, and did he ever pick up on that." He shook his head ruefully. "I probably should have refused to deliver it…"

"But Duncan's orders are sometimes hard to disobey," Adela offered, fully understanding.

"Hey, yeah. I bet you know, having traveled with him for the past few weeks."

The elf nodded. "He is a wonderful traveling companion, though. Good sense of humor." she was grinning. "Even if he is a bit tight lipped about some things."

"He's a good man," Alistair replied, his voice heavy with reverence for the man. At Adela's questioning look, he clarified, "He saved me. I had been sent to the Chantry as a young boy and had resigned myself to the fact that I would probably die in the Chantry's service. Duncan saw I was…unhappy, tested me, and recruited me."

She nodded. _So, Duncan has a history of saving people_. Smiling, she replied, "He's a good man. He saved me, too."

"Seems to be a habit with our Warden Commander," Alistair laughed. "Come on, I'll show you around, and you can ask any question you want."

They moved away, Adela digging into her backpack, pulling out a paper wrapped parcel. "Here," she thrust it into Alistair's large hands. The young man looked down at the package she gave him, and up to her smiling face. "I understand that you have an unholy love of cheese." She waved to indicate the package, and then skipped away a few steps. Alistair unwrapped the package, revealing some crumbly goat cheese. _Okay, _he thought picking off a piece and popping it into his mouth_, now I am officially in love._ And followed after the elf.

DA:O

Their first stop - the mess tent. Alistair claimed to be starved and Adela had to admit she was hungry as well. She was amazed and a little appalled at the amount of food Alistair piled on his plate. She contented herself with a roll, cheese and some dried meat. Grabbing a cup of water, she sat down beside her guide, watching in almost morbid fascination as he shoveled the food into his mouth. Taking small bites of her food, sipping at her water, she almost choked with laughter as Alistair not only finished his meal before she did but got up for a second helping. _Must be a human warrior's appetite_, she figured, covering her mouth with a delicate hand when Alistair sat back down. She glanced back over at him. _He is handsome_, she noted. _But approachable handsome_. She experienced a slight pang when her thought of Nelaros, but shook that away. She had a new life to adjust to and she had already mourned him. As she and Alistair sat beside each other, eating in relative silence (apparently his devotion to his meals did not include small talk) she was startled to realize that his features seemed familiar. However, she was certain she had never had occasion to meet any Templar before, and she was sure she would remember one like Alistair. Shrugging, she concentrated on her meal. When Alistair rose for a third helping, the elf could not help it and erupted into a fit of laughter. Alistair merely raised one red-gold brow at her, grinning away like he knew some great secret he wasn't going to share, and shoveled more food into his mouth.

The pair spent the rest of the day together, with Alistair showing her around the camp and answering any non-specific Warden and non-warden questions. He, too, avoided answering anything with regards to the joining, much to Adela's growing frustration. As they briefly passed by Daveth, the young rogue merely waggled his eyebrows at Alistair, gesturing to the lovely elf walking beside him, and then walked away. Alistair glared at the man's back before turning his attention back to Adela. During their tour, they met the third recruit, a Ser Jory, a human knight who took great pains to inform her that he was originally from Redcliffe and was currently serving in Highever. This was obviously the knight Daveth had complained about earlier. Adela could understand the rogue's frustration. While not a "bad" man, he obviously had his prejudices, not just against elves, but women as well. _Maybe 'prejudices' isn't the right word_, she thought, revising her opinion to one that he was merely ignorant.

Taking their leave, they walked to the quartermaster's stall. As it had been a few hours since her prior visit Adela decided to check on the status of her armor. The man was almost glowing with pride in having completed the armor, and in awe of the workmanship of the gear itself. He had given her the spare pieces, asking if he could keep one. "The workmanship is truly amazing and unique," he quipped, gazing almost lovingly at the bits of leather he held out. "If we could create other suits like this…" Seeing no harm, Adela allowed him to keep one piece, wondering if he'd be able to learn the secrets of Dalish leather working. With the final words of "If it doesn't fit correctly come back" the pair went off to put Adela's belongings in her tent, which was located at the camp set up for the Warden recruits. Alistair's tent had been set up as it was his responsibility to look after the recruits until the joining could take place. Daveth and Jory were no where to be found, but Duncan stood, gazing into the bon fire roaring in the center of the recruit camp.

"Ah, I see you've found Alistair," Duncan remarked as the pair entered the encampment. Adela nodded as she placed her belongings in her tent, and Alistair replied, "And she gave me cheese." Duncan chuckled at that, but then his face took on a slightly stern look as he turned his full attention to his junior Warden. "Are you quite finished riling the mages, Alistair?" _Oh_.

"What can I say?" Alistair quipped, "The way the Revered Mother wields guilt she should join the army."

"Oh? And she told you to sass the mage, did she?" Duncan scolded. Glad she wasn't on the receiving end of the scolding, Adela sat down on a nearby log, picking at the fire with a stick as the two talked. "We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. We must all try and get along."

Hanging his head rather like a beaten puppy, Alistair mumbled, "You're right, Duncan. I…apologize."

Watching the young man, Duncan nodded. "Just, try and restrain your…sense of humor, Alistair," the man encouraged. "Not everyone is as understanding as I am or," he indicated Adela, "the little lady here."

Alistair perked up, and glanced at his mentor at Adela's name. A sense of dread briefly shot through Alistair's stomach as he watched the girl play with the fire and he was aware of Duncan's eyes on him. Shaking his head, he cleared the unpleasant thoughts away. It wouldn't accomplish anything to get worked up about the inevitable anyway.

After speaking briefly with Alistair, Duncan said farewell and went off to go and speak with the other Wardens, who were camped on the other side of the ruins. Alistair went to his tent to gather some tools and then, unsheathing his sword and removing his shield, sat beside Adela, and began sharpening his sword.

"Any more questions?" he asked as he stroked the whetstone along the sword. Adela shook her head, "No, not really." She looked over at the young man. "I've a friend who's fascination of the Wardens near rivals yours of cheese," she teased. Alistair grinned back. He really hoped she survived the joining. Not only because she was pretty, but she was nice and had a sense of humor. Plus, she was young. He glanced over at her. _Too young_, he thought, guessing her younger than twenty, a few years younger than himself. But, he reminded himself, it was hard to tell with elves - they seemed to be eternally young. He wondered what her story was, but was aware that he really wasn't technically allowed to ask. A Warden's prior life ceases to be once they become a Warden. _Well_…he thought, _she's not a Warden yet_. As he opened his mouth to ask just that, a messenger arrived in their camp.

"Lady Adela?" he asked of the girl. Adela's brows rose, a small grin on her face. "Lady? No. Adela? Yes." The messenger looked a bit confused. Adela glanced at Alistair, who was very busily sharpening his sword (_will there be any steel left?) _and replied, "Yes. How can I help you?"

The messenger, a young elven man she had seen running messages all day, replied, "The king wishes to remind you of your dinner engagement with him."

Now Alistair's head shot up. _She knows the king_? He looked over at her as she rolled her eyes and rose. _How well did she know him_?

"Thank you, Pick, is it?" the elven boy nodded, "Alright, I guess we won't keep his majesty waiting." She turned to Alistair, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I had forgotten I had promised Cailan I'd have dinner with him. Sorry to leave you on your own."

Alistair merely shrugged his shoulders, continuing with his work. With a small, confused frown, Adela followed Pick to Cailan's encampment. Once she was beyond the recruit circle, Alistair looked up to watch her as she walked away, a slightly jealous feeling rising in the pit of his stomach. _She knows the king_….and he went back to work, trying not to think of pretty smiles and musical laughs, or delicate elven ears…

DA:O

Cailan, attired more familiarly in breeches and hose, greeted her warmly at the entrance of his tent. With a word to his guard he was not to be disturbed unless urgent, he led Adela to the center table, which had been cleared of parchments and maps and was now covered with food.

"What? Did you bring Isabelle with you?" the elf asked as she sat, laughing, gesturing to the table. "And, how many people did you expect?"

Shaking his head, he laughed, "I was hungry," he joked as he spooned food onto his plate. Adela did likewise, and sat back down. She noticed an almost wistful look cross her friend's face. "You miss her, don't you?" she asked as she put a forkful of potatoes in her mouth. Cailan looked over at her, his misery all but laid bare. "I do." he sighed, taking a forkful himself and began to eat. He looked over at her. "There are days, since I've been away, that I cannot help but feel like I have not let her know just how much I love her." He frowned. "How special she is to me." He sighed. "And without our having borne an heir yet, there has been some squabbling amongst the other nobles. My uncle especially has been making noises for me to set Anora aside for a more 'fertile' bride." Adela stared at the king, an expression of utter confoundedness there. _Set Anora aside? How could anyone expect him to do that? _"I know he is been making inquiries of the Empress Celene." His frown deepened. "Loghain has even accosted me with this, reminding me of my obligation to his daughter. As if I would ever forget _that_." He looked over. "I love Anora. And, if something happened to me here," he looked over at his friend, who had stopped eating to give him her full attention. "Do you think she would know?" He frowned at his plate. Adela stood and walked over to Cailan's side. Placing a warm hand on his shoulder, she gave him a gentle shake. He looked up. "I am positive Anora knows exactly how you feel about her," she assured him. "How do you know?" he asked. Adela shrugged, walking back to her seat, and starting to eat her food. "You forget, I'm her best friend. We best friends share everything." He could not help but notice the little wicked twinkle in her eye. He groaned, dropping his head down. "Great! Just great! I suppose I am no longer some mysterious marvel of king to you, am I?" Adela laughed. "You never were, Cailan!" and began to eat with gusto. Smirking, looking down at her plate, she said, "No, I can tell. This is not Isabelle's cooking."

With a laugh, the somber mood broken, Cailan began to eat as well.

After their meal, they stepped away from the table, Adela retaking the 'comfy' chair, and Cailan choosing to stand. He did not want to start this conversation, that much was evident. So, Adela decided to take the initiative. "I spoke with Loghain," She started. Cailan turned his attention fully to her, waiting. "I am…unsure as well." she concluded lamely.

Sputtering out a sigh, Cailan sat down on one of the other chairs. "Nothing at all?" he asked, hopefully, yet dreading.

Frowning, Adela said, "There was a slight change in his…countenance, while we spoke. An almost hazing of his eyes, his expression going blank. But, it was over so quickly I almost question what I saw." She looked into Cailan's eyes. "And, it's not an unfamiliar look. I've seen it in my father's eyes when he's overworked or tired, or worried about something." Slender shoulders shrugged. "And Loghain is about my father's age; and there is this Blight business, and," she indicated to Cailan, "what you just told me about the nobles' griping about you and Anora not having produced an heir yet. Don't you think that all that would cause him to be over tired, over worked, concerned?"

Nodding, biting his lip, Cailan nodded. "That is exactly what Anora and I thought," he confirmed. Slapping his hands to his knees, huffing out a sigh, he rose, extending his hand to Adela. The elf took it and rose from the chair. "Well, it seems we are back at square one," he said, still holding her hand. "It is probably nothing. So," he kissed her hand, "we will not worry about it any longer. Not until we have real reason to do so." He pulled her toward the exit. "You, my dear, need to get some rest."

As they neared the exit, they could hear a protest from Cailan's guards. Glancing at each other, they moved to investigate when a familiar form emerged from the flap. Loghain stepped fully into the tent, scowling at the sight of Adela's hand in Cailan's. A black brow rose and he shot Cailan with a questioning look.

"Oh, do not give me that look, Loghain," Cailan scolded with barely concealed irritation, "it is Adela."

Loghain's frown intensified. He reached over and pulled Adela from Cailan's grasp, pulling her to the exit. "Precisely why you should be concerned," the Teryn shot back, his grip tightening slightly. The king and elf each exchanged concerned looks. _Now this was behavior unheard of from Loghain._ Trying to diffuse the situation, Adela calmly extracted her hand from Loghain's grasp, and stood at the entrance.

"Calm yourself, Loghain," she said quietly, "we merely passed the time with dinner. I needed to head back to camp anyway. I understand there's a test I must pass and I believe it's to commence tomorrow." Both men now turned concerned eyes her way. She forced a smile. _It was nice that they cared so much, but when would they stop seeing me as a child_? She curtsied to Cailan. "As always, Cailan, it was a pleasure." She then turned an impish grin to Loghain, "And nice to see you as well, Teryn." With those words, she left the tent, tossed the king's guard a smile, walked back to the recruit camp.

She found Alistair still sitting (in almost the same spot) in front of the fire where she had left him just a couple of hours prior. Daveth and Jory were now in camp, setting up their tents and settling down for a bit of drink and talk, which consisted mostly of Daveth teasing poor Jory about missing his wife. Alistair raised his eyes to her, and a slight flush crept up his cheeks as he broke from the gaze. Confused by that reaction, Adela bid the men good night, and crept into her tent. After changing into her nightshift, Adela crawled into her sleeping bag. The male voices outside of her tent would rise and fall, either with mirth or irritation. Sounds similar to the Alienage, she mused. Drawing comfort on these similarities, the elven girl closed her eyes and fell quickly into an easy sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

After weeks of travel, Adela had gotten used to sleeping with nothing between her and the ground but the material of her bedroll. Still, she winced as she rose, stretching, arching her back, wishing for a real bed. She sighed, wondering if she would ever again sleep indoors, on a real bed with bedcovers as opposed to a sleeping sack ever again. She pulled her fingers through her silky hair, grimacing slightly at the dirty feel of it, and wondered if there was somewhere she could get a bath. Most likely not, she ruefully thought, and pulled on her breeches and tunic. She looked over at her mother's armor - well, now it was her armor. Breakfast first, she decided, attempt to find a bath, and then she'd try on the armor. Her plans for the morning set, she grabbed her boots and pack and stepped from her tent.

It was early - so early the sun was just coming up over the horizon. The fire pit still contained remnants of last night's fire and was easy for her to get started. There were soldiers and messengers already bustling about, but, judging from the noises coming from the other tents in their camp, she gathered she was the first to rise in the recruit camp. Frowning, she scanned the area, trying to recall just where the mess tent was located. Spotting it, she pulled on her boots, shouldered her pack and hurried over.

There were few inside (either it was too early or not early enough), but pans full of bacon and eggs and other breakfast items lined one wall, Grabbing a plate, she spooned out some eggs, grabbed a roll and set these on a nearby table. Locating a steaming kettle of tea, she poured herself a cup and settled down to eat. No familiar faces were seen, and so she finished her meal quietly and quickly, and decided to go on the hunt for a bath.

DA:O

Alistair didn't know what to do. Jory and Daveth had risen shortly after he had, but there was still no sign of Adela. He stared gloomily at her tent. Should he just walk in? He had tried calling her name, quietly, but had received no response. He had even tapped on the tent flap and again was met with silence. Daveth had offered to creep in and ease her awake, but the grin the rogue wore on his rugged face only confirmed that that would not be the best idea. With a shrug and glance to each other, the knight and rogue decided to head off to the mess tent for breakfast, leaving a bewildered Alistair behind.

Rubbing a hand roughly over his close shorn hair, the former templar had no idea what to do. He had been raised in a Chantry and had little experience with women who were not priests. He did know, however, that just barging into a woman's tent, uninvited, and while still practically strangers, would be a big no-no. He wished Duncan was there; the commander would not have any reservations, he was certain.

Steeling his resolve, straightening his back, Alistair made the decision. He'll just poke his head in just barely…

"Alistair?"

Jumping, a guilty flush staining his cheeks, the young Warden turned around to see the elven woman who had been the cause of his dilemma standing behind him, her long blonde hair hanging, wet, down her back, her cheeks rosy, and a towel held in one hand. A questioning look in her eyes as she stared at the man who had opened the flap to her tent. Jumping back, Alistair stuttered. "I, ah, was just…ahmm…" he looked at the tent again, and then back the young woman. The questioning look in her eyes had brightened to amusement, and she grinned as she stepped up to him, waiting for him to move aside from her tent so she could deposit her damp towel and sundries within. She turned her amused gaze back upon the Warden.

Taking a deep breath, for all the world feeling like the little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Alistair mumbled, "I thought you were asleep."

Biting her lip, unable to keep the smile from spreading across her face, Adela whispered, "So you were going to go inside…?"

His head snapped up, his embarrassment clear, and he adamantly shook his head. "No, no, no, no…I was just going to…open the tent flap and call to you," he said sheepishly. His brow furrowed. "How long have you been awake?"

"Oh," she nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders, "Since sun up." She looked at him appraisingly, "Shouldn't you all have been up then?" she asked.

"Well, usually, I am, but, I, ah, didn't sleep well last night," it was the truth. Alistair had lain awake thinking about the newest recruit and wondered about her relationship to the king. He glanced down at her hands, noticing her turning the gold band that set upon her finger. _Her ring finger_. He started. _A wedding ring_? "You're married?" the question was out of his mouth before he had time to think. _Oh, maker! She's married_!

"What?" she looked confused, and then glanced down at her hands. Looking back up, she peered into Alistair's eyes. Well, tried to. The young man was trying very hard to look anywhere but her eyes. "No, not married. I was betrothed…but…things didn't work out," there was a touch of sadness in her voice, and she dropped her gaze back to the ring. Although overjoyed she wasn't married, Alistair did notice the sadness that spread across her face. What should he say?

Before he could even come up with a rejoinder, Duncan strolled into the camp, Jory and Daveth not far behind.

"Ah, good, you are all here," Duncan turned his gaze to Adela, "And I see you managed to find the bathhouse." Adela smiled happily at that, pulled her hair and wringing more water from it. Jory and Daveth by then had joined them and Duncan motioned them to the fire, now burning hotly in the center of their camp.

Alistair stepped away from Adela and took his place by Duncan's side. Daveth went to stand beside Adela (a little too closely for the elf's comfort, but she didn't want to insult the man by moving a step away), Jory taking a place slightly behind the two.

"Today you three will be going into the Wilds, each of you to retrieve a vial of darkspawn blood," Duncan instructed, his eyes going from one recruit to another. Adela met his eyes, but her brows raised slightly, a questioning look in her eyes; Daveth's face took on a slightly green pallor while Jory frowned intensely.

"Wait," Adela started, "is this part of the joining?" She asked, wondering if _now _she'd get an answer.

"In fact, it is," Duncan confirmed. "I cannot go into further detail, but suffice it to say this is part of the joining."

Adela nodded. So, the test required they face darkspawn and retrieve the blood. _Why the blood? _Her quick mind settled on the most likely explanation: _as proof that they were each able to face the monsters and bring them down. _

"There are also some old Grey Warden ruins located in the Wilds," Duncan continued, "Within those ruins you should find a chest with a Grey Warden seal upon it. Retrieve the documents contained therein and return them to me."

"What kind of documents are these?" ever curious Adela asked.

"Old treaties," Duncan answered, "promising aid to the Grey Wardens in times of Blights."

Alistair was confused, "I don't understand. If they're so valuable, why were they left behind, the rot in old ruins?"

Shaking his dark head, Duncan replied, "It was always assumed we would return someday," he sighed, "A great many things were assumed that did not come to pass." A frown marred his rugged features. "The treaties were once considered merely a formality. Now, with many forgetting their obligations to the Grey Wardens, it will be wise for us to have these to help remind others of those same responsibilities."

"Get the blood and retrieve the treaties," Adela was saying. "So, when do we head out?"

His eyes skimming over her form quickly, he replied, "As soon as you are armed and armored."

Glancing down at herself, the elf grinned ruefully. "Okay, okay, off I go," she stopped, looking back at the elder Grey Warden, "Unless you have further instruction?"

He chuckled. "No. Alistair, of course, will be accompanying you. However, he will not be leading, but observing, as well as guiding and assisting with trouble. Listen to him carefully, as he has fought darkspawn before." With that, and a nod to the junior Warden, Duncan left the camp to go about other duties he no doubt had to see to.

The three recruits exchanged brief looks, and then Adela went to her tent to put on her armor and gather her weapons.

She picked the armor up from where it lay upon her pack, running her hands over the intricate designs stitched into the supple leather. She remembered seeing her mother wearing this set, and she hoped she would make her proud. She quickly divested herself of breeches and pulled on the leather skirt, lacing the sides and letting it fall to below mid thigh. She remembered that the skirt had fallen higher up the leg on her mother. Grinning, she pulled off her tunic and pulled on the top piece, lacing the sides. Next went on her shoulder guards and boots. Strapping the knee guard of the boots securely around her knees, she then pulled out the gloves. Like the armor and boots, the gloves were designed for someone who fought mostly with a bow, but could easily shift to wielding a blade. The leather guard covered her forearms, elbow guards strapping securely and comfortably about elbows. The gloves covered the entirety of the backs and palms of her hands, and half way up her long, slender fingers. The leather ended, exposing naked fingertips that could feel the string of a bow fair better than leather clad fingers could. Fully armored, Adela took a glance down at herself. She blushed faintly at the amount of exposed midriff as well as upper arm and leg. She moved about a bit in the armor, twisting at the waist, assuming an archer's stance. She had to admit, despite being a cloddish bigot, the quartermaster certainly knew his work. The armor fit snuggly where it should, and gave away in other areas allowing for comfortable movement. She was also impressed with the quality of the stitches. Rebraiding her long hair in a single braid that fell down her back, she then twisted it in a knot and secured it at the base of her neck. _Maybe I should cut it off_? Pleased, the elf slung her bow and quiver full of arrows over her shoulder, strapped her daggers to her hips, took a deep breath and stepped out into the camp.

She expected a reaction - open leering from Daveth, certainly, even a scandalized expression to cross Jory's face. But, she could have almost laughed as Alistair's face, after one look at her in her armor, turned crimson right to the tips of his ears. Daveth's reaction she could almost tolerate - she knew his sort and was prepared for open ogling. Jory's reaction was superbly predictable. With Alistair, she was actually expecting a joke tossed her way. His embarrassed reaction was a bit more than she had expected, and she had to restrain herself from laughing at him.

"See now, Ser Knight," Daveth said with a sweeping motion toward the elven craftswomen-turned-Dalish-archer, "that is why I joined. The women. 'Course," he turned appreciative eyes to Adela, who met his frank admiration with a raised eyebrow, "I had thought I'd be the warrior impressing the ladies, not the other 'way 'round."

Jory's expression didn't change, but she did note that Alistair's face was beginning to assume its normal hue. Clearing his throat, trying very hard not to look _there_, Alistair found his voice. "Okay, all." Well, okay, there was a slight hitch to his voice. _Where did she get that armor? Maker! It looked…she looks…_"Let's go." And with that, Alistair led his charges to the gate that led into the Wilds.

The small group passed nearby Loghain's encampment. Several soldiers and guards had looked up to watch the four, eyes inevitably straying to the elven figure. Scowling at the sudden lack of attention his men were paying, Loghain glanced over. Spying Adela, he nearly did a double take. With her blonde hair up, dressed in the Dalish armor and carrying that bow, Adela was, despite her lack of height and size, the spitting image of Adaia. _No_, he corrected himself. While he had always found Adaia to be a striking woman, Adela was more. _She was beautiful_. The Teryn watched as the young woman and her companions approached the gates and, after a brief discussion with the guardsman there, she and the others passed through and headed out to the Wilds. Anxious that she was left in the care of the fool Alistair, he prayed that she would return, in one piece. After another moment, Loghain turned back to the soldier he was speaking with.

DA:O

A 'twang' from her bow, an arrow shot straight and true, and the final adversarial wolf fell at Alistair's feet, dead. Panting hard, leaning his hands on his knees, the young Warden shot Adela a grateful smile as she trotted up to him. Scanning the area quickly, assured there were no more foes at the moment, the young elf slung her bow back onto her shoulder, and carefully started running her hands over Alistair's neck, shoulders and arms. Forgetting his own shyness, the Warden appreciated her attention. "So, am I in one piece?" he asked, that jovial laughter back in his voice despite his panting.

Adela returned his smile and nodded, "Looks like you'll live," she responded, then left to go check on Daveth and Jory.

Daveth had escaped the fight without so much as a scratch, but Jory's armor had a few pulls where wolves had sunk their teeth into the leather straps of his scale armor. However, he didn't appear injured. Adela, her strong suit being archery, had stood back and shot at the pack of wolves that had inexplicably attacked them as they passed the boundaries of the Wilds. She glanced back at the bodies of about a dozen white wolves, thinking that it was too bad they did not have time to skin the animals. She knew a leather worker in Denerim that would love to work these hides.

Her gaze stopped at a pile of _something _lying near the shore of one of the swamps. Alistair noted the frown that formed on her face. "What?" he asked as he stood straight and went to her side. "Do you see it?" she asked, pointing in the direction. "It almost looks like…" and the frown turning in a scowl the elf broke off and began trotting away from the Warden in the direction of the pile. Muttering under his breath, Alistair glanced back toward the knight and rogue, who were both drinking water from flasks, and ran to catch up with the nimble elf.

Adela stopped quickly, her heart in her throat. The pile she had noticed was the decomposing body of a man. Despite the time in the weather, she was able to make out that he had been a young man, and dressed in what could have been Chantry robes. _Not very practical for the Wilds_, she thought grimly. She spied a scroll tube clutched in one hand. Stepping up to the body, she crouched down, and gingerly pulled the case free of the man's stiff fingers. She winched at the sucking sounds her feet made, there in the muddy shore of the pond. Pulling it free, she rose, holding the tube carefully. She stepped away from the body, pulled the ceramic cap from the tube and pulled the parchment rolled up inside out. Alistair had by this time moved to stand over Adela's shoulder, curious as to what the scroll said. Adela read, her eyes tearing a bit as she realized the fate of the young man mentioned in the note:

"My dear son, Jogby,

"I fear this is the last letter I will write to you, I have had difficulty finding the Chasind to bring them the Maker's word. I have, however, seen evidence of their passing. They appear to have left this area in great haste, possibly fleeing the so-called "darkspawn" that are rumored to be gathering in the Wilds in ever greater numbers.

"I have left you a weapon and everything else I can spare, my son. I will try to find you once I have found a safe place. I only hope that you will be safe. With luck, we will meet again.

"If you see her, tell your mother that I love her. And take care of you family.

"Your loving father,

"Rigby "

Adela bowed her head and Alistair looked back at the body. "Poor fellow," he murmured. Placing a hand on Adela's shoulder, the Warden gestured that they should rejoin their companions. With a final look at the body, regretful that they had to leave him there, a victim to the Wilds, they went back to the others, the young woman tucking the parchment back into the scroll tube and tucking it in her pack.

Jory and Daveth watched the pair approach. Tucking their water flasks back into their packs, the pair picked up their weapons and followed the pair, their eyes staring out into the surrounding wilderness with fear and apprehension.

An anguished, choking sound rose to Adela's sensitive ears and she stopped, putting a hand on Alistair's arm. The Warden stopped and cocked his head, listening. Yes, he heard it too. Exchanging a look with the elven archer, he trotted ahead and Adela turned to the others advising them to be prepared and to follow, weapons ready. She pulled her bow from her shoulder, notching an arrow, and followed the junior Warden.

There, dragging himself across the muddy ground, leaving a path of blood behind him, was a young soldier dressed in Highever livery. Adela replaced her bow and pulled from her pack healing poultices and bandages as Alistair knelt beside the man.

"Hold on, man," he whispered.

The injured solider glanced up. "What? Who?" he noticed the emblem on Alistair's shield. "Grey Wardens?"

"Hmm…he's not half as dead as he appears," Alistair deadpanned. Adela shot him a look and gently eased the man over on his side. He had numerous wounds along his chest and stomach, and while obviously painful and the man was fatigued, he would survive the injuries if he was taken back to camp. She voiced this, but the solider only shook his head, "Just…just bandage me up. I need…to report to Teryn Loghain and tell him that our patrol was overtaken by darkspawn!"

As Adela continued to bandage the soldier, Alistair continued asking him questions: Where was the rest of his patrol? Where was Fergus Cousland, the nobleman who led this patrol? Each question Alistair posed was answered in the negative - he did not know.

"There," Adela said as she tightened the last bandage and handed the man another poultice with instructions to place it on the deep wound on his chest once he returned to camp. With a grateful nod, the soldier pushed himself to his feet, and staggered back in the direction of the camp.

As Adela repacked her medical supplies, Alistair rose. He met two pair of dark, concerned eyes. It was Jory that spoke first. "Did you hear that?" He anxiously glanced about, as though the trees themselves would suddenly jump out and tear him apart. "A whole platoon of seasoned soldiers, wiped out."

"Calm down, Ser Jory," Alistair spoke in soothing tones. Adela stood up, pulling her bow from her shoulder.

"Calm down?" Jory's tone was incredulous. "How can I remain calm with a hoard of darkspawn about? Now," he straightened his shoulders slightly, "I'm no coward, but this is reckless and foolish. I say we return to camp."

"Ser Jory," the elf caught the human's attention. She almost winced at the fright she saw clearly in his eyes. _Why did Duncan recruit this man_? "This is part of the joining, the see if we are worthy to join the Wardens…"

Jory scoffed, "Have I not already earned my place?" He demanded. "If I had known there would be more tests…!"

But Alistair was shaking his head, "There are darkspawn about, but we are in no danger of encountering the hoard or suffering an ambush." Maintaining that calm, comforting tone, he continued, "That's why I'm here."

"You see Ser Knight," Daveth piped in, "we may be killed, but we'll be warned about it first." Adela just rolled her eyes at the rogue.

"That is….reassuring." he conceded, albeit quite unwillingly.

"Fine, then," Alistair said, shouldering his pack, his shield and sword held at the ready. "Let's get a move on, shall we?" And, indicating for Adela to move on, the Warden stepped away from the two men. Shaking his head, Daveth followed after, while a still reluctant Jory numbly followed behind.

DA:O

The small band found themselves still in the Wilds as night fell. They had battled through several small bands of darkspawn and Alistair had to admit he was most impressed with the little elven archer. She knew how to follow orders and also to give them as necessary. She would fall back, bow and arrow ready, and send forth a steady stream of missiles as Alistair and Jory would meet the foes head on, Daveth sneaking around behind to put his daggers to work. The Warden was also impressed with Daveth's blade work as well as the rogue's courage, which surprised the young man greatly. At first glance, Daveth would not be someone that the word "courageous" would spring to mind.

Of the three recruits, Alistair found himself most disappointed with Jory. The man could wield a blade quite well, and could put a great deal of force out, and willingly took the brunt of most of the attacks. However, he always seemed on the verge of running once the battle was over, and he could never quite get beyond the fact that although he was a knight, and his fellow recruits a rogue and an elf, he was not the most qualified member of the team. That, added to his constant whining over his wife, was cause for Daveth to, several times, make a point of accosting the knight verbally with sneering, snide remarks. As the day went on, even Adela's even temperament was nearing its end.

Deciding it was unsafe to continue through the Wilds at night, the band set up camp. They had packed light, so none had a tent, but they did have bed rolls and means to start a fire. Alistair questioned whether it was wise to have one, but Adela figured that the darkspawn would find them regardless, and it was best to have the fire to hold back other predators. The other two recruits quickly agreed with the elf, and so a campfire was set up and lit. Unfortunately, there would not be any fresh meat to cook over the flames, and the group had to settle for iron rations.

After the camp was set, Adela had walked to the perimeter, staring out over the Wilds. Frowning, she realized she spotted the body of a man, laying within the deteriorated ruins of what must have been a gazebo. _How many have died here recently_? She wondered as she motioned to Alistair to come with her. Alistair followed quietly as the elf led him to the body. It did not appear that he had been there for very long. Frowning, shaking his head, the former Templar offered up a word of prayer for the man. Adela searched his body, finding a note. Opening it, her frown deepened. "Oh," she whispered, glancing back at the body, "the poor woman."

_Wait? Woman_? Alistair walked over to the woman's side. She handed him the note and went back to the body.

"To whoever finds this note,

"This is the last will and testament of Rigby the missionary, proud speaker of the Maker's word. I have come to the Wilds to speak the Chant, but I fear I will die here at the hands of the darkspawn.

"I leave all that I came with to my wife, Jetta. Should the reader of this note feel charitable, I have buried a sealed lockbox in our camp, nestled in a Tevinter ruin in the western reaches of the Wilds. It is my will that this lockbox finds my wife in Redcliffe, and that it is still sealed shut when it reaches her.

"To my wife and my son, I apologize that my work has taken me from you, but I know that I die in service to the Maker.

"Rigby"

Adela's blue eyes met Alistair's amber. "We have to find that lockbox and return it to her," she stated matter of factly, her eyes going back to the body. Alistair frowned. "Adela," he moved closer to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. He was sympathetic, but, "we have to find those treaties and get back to Duncan as quickly as possible."

But her eyes remained on the body of the missionary. He had risked so much to bring what he considered hope to the Wilderfolk. She shook her head, "Alistair. We can't give this man - or his son - a proper burial. His wife will be waiting in Redcliffe for word from either of them," she turned her penetrating gaze to Alistair, and he almost felt he could not deny her anything at that moment. "Waiting for word that will never come, unless we bring it to her."

Various wildlife chirped and howled throughout the Wilds. The pair stood over the body of a man whose only dream was to bring the Chant of Light to the barbarians of the Wilds. And Alistair found himself staring into the bluest eyes, now sapphire in the grief expressed for the wife of the dead man who lay before them. Adela placed a soft hand on his armored arm. "If this was me, laying here, my last thought of my family, wanting them to find peace, I would want someone to find the heart to do this one small task." She said the words so softly, so earnestly. Without a thought, not questioning it again, the junior Warden found himself nodding. His heart lifted at the appreciative smile that crossed Adela's face. "We'll search for the lockbox. And, if we find it, after the battle," he said, "I'll ask Duncan and we can both take it to Redcliffe."

"Thank you," she whispered, rising on her tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his scruffy cheek. With a final look at the body, she stepped away and went back to the campsite.

Alistair stood there for several moments longer, staring out into the Wilds, thanking the Maker for sending this strong hearted woman to the Wardens. As he stepped away, he amended that prayer. _To him_.

DA:O

The last genlock fell, its body littered with arrows. Jory lay on the ground, groaning, while Daveth went about looting the darkspawn bodies. Cursing lightly under her breath, Adela pulled out healing poultices and bandages and ran to the knight, shaking her head at his stupidity. When Jory fought, he seemed to have eyes only for his current opponent. _What did he think tournament rules applied to real battle_? She thought angrily as she tucked a poultice into a tear in his armor. The knight winced, trying to push her hands away. She slapped them away impatiently, binding the poultice in place with the bandages. That was the last of the bandages, most of them having gone to patching this very same knight up. She really could not believe Duncan recruited this man. "Next time I say 'duck'," she gave the man a shake, "I mean 'duck'!" Staring at her stupidly, Jory pushed himself to his feet, wobbling a bit.

Adela turned her attention from the man to the camp they found themselves in. According to Rigby's notes, this should be his camp. _Now, where was that cache_…she scouted around, scouring the ground. She glanced up briefly to see Alistair walking back into view. He had chased after a particularly nasty hurlock, but now returned without a mark on him, well, save for some blood. _Ugh_! Glancing down at herself she allowed a moment of utter revulsion to pass through. It's going to take a week of baths just to get the smell off her! Alistair raised a hand in greeting, a self-satisfied grin on his face. Shaking her head, she went back to searching out Rigby's lockbox. Ah…there it is. She noticed the rocks that created the border of the fire pit were arranged strangely. There was no way that this arrangement would allow for a good, strong fire. Pulling the rocks away, she was rewarded by the sight of a metal box. A strong sense of relief swept through her, and she pulled the box free, tucking it into her pack.

"What, you're not gonna take a look inside?" Daveth, walking up to her, asked. She shook her head. "No. The contents are for Rigby's wife and her alone." Adela stood up. The rogue stared at her a moment. Then, with a shrug went back to his looting. She shook her head, and then turned to find Alistair watching her with great interest.

A tired smile, and she said, "What? Too much darkspawn guts in my hair?" She meant it as a joke, even knowing she probably wasn't too far off the mark. Alistair grinned. "But you really can pull that look off quite well." With a "ha ha" Adela shifted her pack onto her shoulders. "Where to, oh guide of Warden-ness?" she asked of the junior Warden. Chuckling, Alistair pointed to the north. "I believe the ruins are that way," he glanced at the two men who now approached the pair. "We should be able to reach it in a couple of hours."

Taking a deep breath, hoping that this little excursion was soon over (she really wanted a bath), Adela nodded and took her customary position up front.

DA:O

Two hours later, after several more minor skirmishes and one fairly tough battle - facing off against their first magic-wielding darkspawn called an emissary, the group arrived at the ancient tower formerly controlled by the Grey Wardens. Alistair ordered them to spread out and search out the chest. Adela picked through fallen rubble and rotten beams, making her way deeper into the ruin. She could hear Jory and Alistair both clumping along and the only sign Daveth was nearby was the occasional call out he gave so everyone knew his position. She made her way into what appeared to be a courtyard. Glancing up, she saw that it wasn't a courtyard, but had once been a great hall. The ceiling had fallen in long ago, and only remnants remained, clinging to the support walls. She lightly skipped over the rubble and spotted what they had come here for. Lying against one of the walls was the ruined remains of a metal chest, engraved with the Grey Warden seal. Frowning, believing that the treaties had long since been destroyed, Adela called out to her companions, and then stepped toward the chest. Kneeling down, she carefully examined the ground before and around the chest, checking for any traps that may yet still be operational. Finding none, she turned her attention to the chest itself. Rubble from the ceiling lay upon the crushed cover of the once ornate chest. The lock had been smashed and hung useless by its mechanism. Pulling the granite off the chest, she pushed the lid up, revealing a chest full of rubble and dust, but nothing else. She rose as the others walked into the chamber. Turning to them she opened her mouth to let them know what happened when a sultry voice echoed from one of the chambers off the hall.

"Well, well, well," the voice said, and in walked a young woman, about Alistair's age, sauntering into the room. Raven haired, with eyes yellow as a predator, clothed in bits of rags, leather and feathers that barely covered her graceful form, she continued her slow, seductive walk. "What have we here?" she asked. "Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones have been long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of... easy prey?"

She stopped in front of Adela. "Well? What say you?"

"Don't answer," Alistair had moved closer to Adela and whispered to her. "She looks Chasind and others may be nearby…"

"Oh, you fear barbarians would swoop down upon you!" she raised her arms dramatically.

"Yeeesss…." came Alistair's snide reply, "swooping…is…bad."

Adela frowned, turning back to the strange human woman, "We are not intruders. This tower belongs to the Grey Wardens."

"'Tis a tower no longer," the mysterious woman replied.

"She's a witch of the wilds, I tell you!" Daveth nervously broke in, his voice fairly humming with fear, "We shouldn't be talking to her! She'll turn us into toads"

"Witch of the Wilds?" she 'tsked' at the frightened man. Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the elf. "You there, girl. Women do not frighten as easily as men. Tell me your name and I'll tell you mine."

Adela felt Alistair move closer. Although the woman seemed strange, she didn't get a strong feeling of danger from her. Taking a small step away from Alistair (she heard his sharp intake of breath when she did so), she replied. "My name is Adela." she offered a small smile.

The witch returned the smile, "And I am Morrigan." She paused. "Let me guess, you've come here in search of something…something which is here no longer?"

"Here no longer?" Alistair broke in, irritation evident in his voice. "You took them, didn't you," he accused. "You're some kind of…sneaky witch thief!"

"How very eloquent," the woman's archaic, clipped voice held a touch of amusement. "I wonder, how does one steal from dead men?"

"Very easily, it appears," Alistair's voice took on an authoritative quality, and he faced off against the woman, "Those treaties are Grey Warden property, and I demand you return them."

"I will not for 'twas not I who took them." She scoffed. "Invoke a name which means nothing here any longer. I will not be threatened."

"Who took them?" Adela asked, remaining calm, hoping Alistair would do the same.

"Now there's a sensible question," Morrigan chuckled lowly, "I like you."

"Careful," came a warning from Alistair, "First it's," and his voice went an octave higher, "'I like you'" and then lowered to normal, "and then 'zap!' Frog time."

Morrigan scowled at Alistair, clearly not liking the man. "'Twas my mother in fact," she replied to Adela's question, deciding to just ignore the man completely.

Adela frowned. Things were not going as they should. Finding Morrigan, a lone woman just wandering around while darkspawn were about was more than a little disconcerting and suspicious. Still, they needed those treaties. "Can you take us to her?" she asked. All three men behind her gasped, and Alistair this time grasped her arm. She shook her head at the man, her eyes never leaving Morrigan's strange yellow eyes.

The witch smiled and nodded. "Indeed I can. Follow me, if you will," and without another word, led them from the ruins and through a part of the wilderness they had not traversed. They soon crossed a small wooden foot bridge over a swampy part of the marsh, and into a clearing in which sat a small hut. An elderly woman with eyes similar to Morrigan's stood at the door, as though she had expected them.

"Mother, I bring before you four Grey Wardens…" Morrigan began, but was cut off by her mother. "I see them girl," she turned those strange eyes to the newcomers. "Just as I expected," she said in deep, breathy tones.

"What?" Alistair said, "Are we to believe you were expecting us?"

"You are required to do nothing, least of all believe." She chuckled. "Believe what you will," the old woman replied, smirking at the man. "For it is not I who decides. Open one's arms wide or close ones eyes tight, either way, one's a fool." Her attention shifted to Adela, her eyes brightening with interest. "And, you. Does your elven mind tell you something else?" The old witch watched the girl with great interest. Trepidation came over her. _Was she being tested_? "I'm not sure what to believe," she answered honestly. Her answer apparently pleased the old woman for she cackled with pleasure. "Now there's an answer that indicates more wisdom then it implies. Be always aware, or is it oblivious," she looked down at her shoes. "I can never remember." she muttered that last part.

Alistair smirked, whispering to Adela, "Sooo…this is a dreaded witch of the wilds?" Adela shrugged one shoulder, still not believing they were even having this conversation.

"Witch of the Wilds?" the old woman cackled. "Morrigan must have told you that! She's always loved old tales. Oh! How she dances under the moon!" she cackled some more. Morrigan merely placed a hand on her forehead, as though trying to forestall a headache. "They did not come to hear your wild tales, Mother."

"True. They came for their treaties. And, before you start barking," she said clearly as she handed over the documents to Adela, "I have kept these safe."

"You…you kept them safe?" Alistair just couldn't believe it.

"Of course. And, tell your fellow Grey Wardens that this Blight is more than they realize." Sagely spoken, the woman seemed quite pleased with herself.

"More than they realize?" Adela asked, "How?"

The old woman laughed, ""Either the threat is more or they realize less. Or perhaps the threat is nothing! Or perhaps they realize nothing!" she cackled.

With a glance to Alistair, Adela replied, "Thank you for keeping safe the treaties and the information regarding the Blight."

"Such manners! And always in the last place you look... like stockings!" Again, she looked down at her feet - actually her stockings.

"Now is time for you to leave," Morrigan broke in, in hopes of forestalling any further nonsense from her mother.

"Don't be rude, girl," the old woman admonished. "These are your guests."

"Oh," Morrigan sulked. "Very well." She glared at the group. "Follow me." and reluctantly guided the four from the clearing and back to where they had entered the Wilds. Turning to thank Morrigan, Adela was acknowledged with a slight scoff, a toss of a raven haired head, and then Morrigan just walked off. Daveth, having gotten over his initial fright, gave a whistle of appreciation to the woman's swaying hips. "What?" he asked when he spotted Jory and Alistair glaring at him. "She may be a witch, but, boy, those are some fine hips!". Still frowning, Alistair led the recruits from the wilderness and back to camp.


	9. Chapter 9

_Okay, I forgot this all last chapter. So, here it is: I own nothing save for Adela (well and maybe her stylized halla figurine, although Loghain did abscond with it. *shrugs* go figure). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just a some twists to make things fit to my story. I had a bit of trouble with this chapter. It went on way longer than I had wanted, and had actually planned for it have more and conclude a few things. *shrugs* That's what happens with you give your characters their own free will, I guess.. However, I figured I would end where I did and continue on to the next chapter (Loghain is shouting at me right now…guess I need to get the next chapter done; be forewarned - the next chapter may take a bit longer to post, and postings will start taking longer). And lisakodysam, there's a special addition just for you!_

_As always, thank you all for the reviews, alerts and favorites. Biff McLaughlin, mutive, lisakodysam, and demonshade (thanks, demonshade, for your thoughtful critique. I am hoping to improve my writing and your critique will help point me in that direction). Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum._

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 9_

Rid of his bodyguards, Loghain stalked through the camp, passed where fearful soldiers prostrated themselves in prayer to the Maker, to the spot the Warden recruits were camped. Glaring about the site, he grumbled as he took note that no one was present. _Where was that bastard_? He snarled to himself. He had seen him not an hour before speaking with Cailan. He surely had not gotten very far.

As he continued his brooding and search, Loghain found himself momentarily unnerved by his very strong reaction to the knowledge that soon Adela would be committed to the Grey Wardens. The longer he thought about it, the more enraged he became.

Lately, his emotions had been becoming…erratic. He was aware of this fact, but had been finding himself increasingly unable to calm them. He put it down to the ongoing gossip regarding Cailan's fidelity to Anora, the increasing volume to the whispers of the nobles that Anora need be set aside in favor of a younger, presumably more fertile queen, and now Cailan's insistence that they rely upon the Orlesians to assist with the darkspawn incursion. This did not explain to his satisfaction why he was so angry about the idea of Adela being here, in the line of fire, about to be initiated into the secretive order that was the Grey Wardens.

_If only the girl would stay in Denerim where I could watch over her_! He stopped in his tracks, absorbing that last thought. Not wanting to follow the path his thoughts took with that little admission, he continued his search for the Commander of the Grey.

His diligence was rewarded shortly as he spotted Duncan stepping away from the magi's encampment. The elderly mage, Wynne, watched Duncan walk away before turning back to the tranquil she had been assisting. His eyes now on his target, Loghain advanced upon the other man.

"Duncan, a word," Loghain called, his voice holding back any of the overwrought emotions he was dealing with. Duncan paused and turned toward the Teryn, his face remaining impassive. Duncan had been expecting this confrontation for some time now.

"Teryn Loghain," the commander bowed respectfully. "How may I be of assistance?" His tone of voice calm. Duncan made a conscious decision to not start the conversation in an antagonizing manner. He and the Teryn had a history of…dislike for one another, and he had no desire to exacerbate the situation now.

Loghain's brows furrowed downwards, the scowl firmly in place. "You must be pleased with yourself, Warden," he remarked, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

A brow rose slightly at that, and Duncan responded evenly. "Pleased? How so?"

The scowl on Loghain's face only deepened. "You finally have a Mahariel in your pocket," he snarled. "You must have been greatly pleased to get your hands on her."

Although expecting some kind of confrontation with the Teryn regarding Adela's conscription, Duncan was surprised by the naked emotion that the Teryn tried to keep a rein on. The Warden stood for a moment, studying his old adversary's face. He could not help but wonder if the girl in question was aware of how the older man felt about her. Knowing Adela, most likely not.

"I assure you, Teryn Loghain," he started, still maintaining his calm. "Had I not conscripted young Adela, she would have been taken to Fort Drakon and from there to the gallows." He frowned. "And we both know her time at Fort Drakon would have been less than pleasant."

"Anora would never…" the Teryn started harshly, taking a step forward.

However, Duncan cut him off, "Adela had no intention of calling for sanctuary from the Queen or anyone else." A lesser man would have backed down from the intensity that was Loghain. However, Duncan was not a lesser man and so met Loghain's stance, dark eyes meeting those icy orbs.

"She was willing to take full responsibility," he frowned slightly at recalling just how willing she was to give up her life so that no harm would befall her beloved Alienage. "And she understood exactly what that meant." He noticed a slightly confused expression crease Loghain's brow, and the taller man stepped back, watching as the Warden continued. "I had to conscript her and even then argue with her to accept it. She actually called me on it several times during our journey here."

"What happened?" Loghain asked, the aggressive tone all but melting away from his voice.

Duncan shook his head. "It is not my place to discuss that," the Warden explained, watching as renewed anger clouded the Teryn's face. He stepped back, bowing, and turned to leave. "That is something you need to discuss with Adela." With those words, he walked away from the seething Teryn.

Loghain could only watch the Warden's retreating back as his anger reasserted itself anew.

DA:O

"A bath," Adela was muttering as they passed beyond the Wilds' boundaries and back into camp. Alistair grinned at her. "No, really," she was adamant. "I really need a bath."

She grimaced at the tight feel of blood and dirt on her exposed skin, and glanced over to their campsite. No Duncan in sight. Hmm…"I'm going to skip over to my tent and then see if I can get a quick wash before Duncan arrives…" and with those words, she left the three men.

Alistair watched the elven woman skip away to the campsite. Daveth took the opportunity to walk up beside the junior Warden, whistling a little as he, too, watched the lovely elf with great appreciation in his eyes.

"Yup," the rogue said, drawing Alistair's attention to him. "Now that right there is a fine piece," he continued, grinning at the other man. Jory just scoffed as he stalked away from the pair, and Alistair shot the other man a glare. Daveth noticed the look, but wasn't going to keep quiet. "C'mon, chantry boy," he quipped, obviously trying to rile him. "Don't you be tellin' me that you haven't noticed her fine…" he grinned, "assets."

His grin widened as Alistair remained silent. "I seem to recall you noticing them fairly well when we left camp the other day. Oh," and Daveth quickened his pace away from the larger man, "and while we was in the Wilds," he grinned wider still, "and at camp…" Then, the rogue turned away and stepped into the campsite.

Alistair just shook his head, a relieved smile on his face as he spotted Duncan walking toward them. _Looks like Adela is not going to get her bath just yet,_ the young man thought with a great deal of sympathy. That sympathy erupted into mirth as he watched the girl exit her tent, sundries in hand, only to have Duncan shake his head "no". Frowning, looking like a child whose favorite toy had been taken away, the girl reluctantly tossed her bag back into her tent and stood before the Warden Commander, waiting for the others.

Duncan nodded as Alistair stepped into the site. "Good. I see that you are all back," his eyes still on Alistair, he added, "were you successful?"

Alistair nodded, handing Duncan three vials of darkspawn blood. "Yes, Duncan. Each of the recruits felled at least one darkspawn and retrieved the blood." He stood straight, as though at a military inspection. "Although to be fair, each of the recruits felled far more than just one of the creatures."

"Oh?" Duncan watched the junior Warden. "Very good." He turned to see a young mage enter the campsite. "Take these to Senior Enchanter Wynne and ask her to finalize the rite." The mage nodded his head, turned and left, carefully holding the vials.

"And the treaties?" Adela had already pulled them from her pack and handed them to Duncan. He looked them over briefly and then put them into a leather pouch hanging at his hip.

Adela watched as Duncan packed away the treaties, and then spoke, "Okay, Duncan. Are we near enough to the joining ceremony to know what's going on?"

He nodded, "I will not lie to you," his voice was serious, and he fixed each of the recruits with a penetrating stare. "We Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decide that you pay that price now rather than later."

"You mean, we could die?" Jory asked, dread fairly dripping from his voice.

"Yes, it is possible."

"Well," Daveth remarked, clapping his hands together once. "I'd've been hung in Denerim had you not the sense to see my own very remarkable skills," he boasted. "So, I'm 'bout as ready as I'll ever be for this here joining."

"I, too, am ready," Jory remarked, trying to swallow down his fear.

Adela was nodding. She looked up. "Like Daveth, I would be dead - or worse - had you not come along, Duncan. If I die here, at least I had a few extra weeks and got to journey to Ostagar."

Duncan nodded sagely, yet felt a keen sense of pride at the young woman's words. A look over at Alistair told him that the junior Warden, although apparently upset by what could be the outcome, held a modicum of pride as well. "Alistair," he got the other Warden's attention. "Bring the recruits to the old temple. We will begin the joining shortly."

"Yes, Duncan," he replied as Duncan turned and walked to the old temple.

Muttering that she could have taken a bath first, Adela followed the others. As they passed the kennels, though, she ran to the kennel master and handed him a white flower. The man seemed pleased and wanted to speak more, but she waved him off and hurried away. It was then that Alistair recalled her picking that flower, saying something about a sick mabari. She caught up with the men just as they were heading up the ramp to meet with Duncan.

Duncan had stepped away to speak with the white haired mage, motioning Alistair to follow. The elderly mage handed Duncan a chalice, said a few words to both men and then departed.

Duncan turned to Alistair, speaking softly, "What was your impression of our recruits during their foray into the Wilds?"

Alistair frowned slightly, running his hand through his hair. "Well…" he did not know where to start. "I have to admit to a bit of…confusion…as to why Ser Jory was recruited," he looked over at his mentor, who was studying him without expression. "He's skilled with that huge sword of his, but…I don't know. He seems to lack heart - it's so closely tied to his wife and unborn child that that's all he seems to think about. He also doesn't really have a sense for battle, like it's all a great big tournament and we're all invited to watch." Alistair shrugged. "He, well, he also seems to lack a bit of respect for those who aren't…" Alistair struggled here for the right word. "I don't know…knights? Nobles? Human? Men?"

Duncan raised his eyebrows. "Oh? How so?"

Sputtering out a sigh, (he really did not like doing this, bad talking someone who may well become a brother warden), he continued. "He seemed to take on a superior air with Daveth, and all but treated Adela like she was some servant. Well, until she set him straight in that regard and Daveth can give as good as he takes."

Duncan frowned a bit at that, but said nothing. They had recruited nobles before and could well deal with someone's act of superiority. If nothing else, the more senior wardens would figuratively (and perhaps literally) beat it out of him.

"What about Daveth?" Duncan prodded, keeping the conversation on course.

Hi smirked and nodded. "You know, when I first met him, I was sure he was some braggart rogue looking to steal your purse with one hand, stab you in the back with the other, all while trying to bed some poor unsuspecting girl."

"And now?"

Alistair laughed. "Well, I don't think he's going to stab us in the back." Duncan chuckled at that. "He actually showed amazing courage facing the darkspawn, and was wherever any of us needed his blade at any time. He followed orders well, and just seemed to know where he was needed." Alistair grinned. "He's also friendly. I thought for certain he would be the most obnoxious ass, but he's fair decent, once you know to expect the snide remark here or there, and you know he's going to flirt with the girls." The young Warden nodded. "He'll make a good addition to the Wardens." _If he survives_, he silently finished.

Nodding, his arms crossed against his chest, Duncan then asked about Adela. This was a subject Alistair could warm up to. "It's obvious she doesn't have a lot of actual battle experience. There were a few times she seemed to hesitate and when a foe got too close, I thought she'd jump out of her skin." He frowned a bit. "I even recall her acting skittish whenever one of us moved too closely. However, she listened well, asked questions when needed, and followed instruction. Heck, Duncan, she was even ordering us around toward the end there. She's a natural when it comes to leadership and that, I think, more than makes up for any lack of battle experience she may have."

"I had thought so as well," Duncan agreed, motioning for the young man to continue.

"She's deadly accurate with her bow; but needs more work with hand-to-hand combat; she's courageous even when she's scared stiff." Alistair grinned. "Should I go on about how she's smart, funny, beautiful, puts people at ease…?" Duncan smirked, raising a brow. "Oh! In addition, she's a healer. Whenever any of us got injured, she was right there with poultices and bandages."

"Hmmm…I'd imagine in the Alienage they would need their own as healers, as many therein would be unable to afford a healer from outside the Alienage." Duncan put in.

"You know, I never thought of that. So, Adela must have been one of their healers," the young man mused. "Huh."

Duncan's attention shifted to the three recruits. Jory and Daveth are bantering - bickering - back and forth and Adela is barely paying any attention to them. He noticed she was watching him and Alistair and when she noticed his focus on her, she gave a small embarrassed smile and turned back to her companions. "Thank you, Alistair. I believe we should begin the joining."

The pair of Wardens walked back to the three recruits.

Duncan turned to face the trio. "We bear a sacred burden. For an age, we have protected the lands of men. Now, a Blight is upon us and we dare not falter. Regardless of race, station in life, mage or warrior. The best must take up our banner to save us all from annihilation."

He paused. "We Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. And so it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood," he looked at each recruit before continuing, "and mastered it's taint."

Jory paled. "We…we're going to drink the…blood of those…those creatures?"

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we," he motioned to include Alistair, "did before you. This is the source of our power," he clenched a fist before him, "and our victory."

"Those who survive the joining become immune to the taint," Alistair advised, seeking to ease the tensions of the knight. "We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the Archdemon."

Adela looked over her fellow recruits. Jory was terrified, Daveth resolute. To Duncan she spoke in a small voice, "It's the darkspawn blood that could also kill us."

"Those who survive the joining are forever changed. This is why the joining is a secret. It is the price we pay."

Recalling all the times she bothered Duncan and Alistair regarding the joining, the elf smiled sadly a bit.

"We speak only a few words prior to the joining. But these words have been said since the first." he turned to the junior Warden. "Alistair, if you would."

"Join us, brothers and sisters." Alistair began, his voice soft and reverent, his head bowed. Daveth and Adela each bowed their heads, as did Duncan. Jory's fearful gaze kept going back to the chalice, its presence foreboding, terrifying in its call of duty.

"Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you."

Turning to pick up the chalice, Duncan called Daveth forth. "Daveth, step forward," he turned back to the young man. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden."

Daveth took the chalice in steady hands. He tossed a mischievous grin Adela's way, "Well, guess this is it. Will you be impressed when I'm a Grey Warden?" he joked, recalling his first meeting with the pretty elf. Adela graced him with a wide smile, giving him a small shrug. His attention back to the chalice, he brought it up to his lips and drank.

He handed the chalice back, but this time his hands were shaking, terribly so. Adela gasped as Daveth grabbed hold of his throat, choking. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he stumbled. With a gurgling cry, he slumped to the ground.

Forcing herself to _stand still_, the elf watched as Duncan knelt down, feeling for a pulse. The Commander bowed his head, and murmured, "I am sorry, Daveth." Fear clenched Adela's stomach, and she felt the need to vomit. She controlled the urge, knowing that there was no turning back. She would live or die. As a Grey Warden.

Duncan turned to the knight, "Jory, step forward," he commanded.

But Jory stepped back toward the wall, cornering himself in. "No." he mumbled. "I have a wife…a child…"

"There is no turning back," Duncan advised, advancing with the chalice. Jory started to pull his sword.

"No, there is no glory in this!" His sword was fully out of its sheath and he was bringing it to bear.

Adela made to move toward the frightened knight, but Alistair pulled her back and away. The elf gasped as the young man placed his hands on her arms, holding her too closely against him. She shook her head, trying to move away from him. That only caused Alistair to hold more firmly.

The junior Warden cursed Jory's cowardice, not only for his own sake, but also for Adela. _She didn't need to be any more frightened than she already was_, he thought bitterly, feeling her trembling almost uncontrollably beneath his hands.

Jory made a lunge at Duncan, which the older man easily side stepped. Drawing a curved blade - it appeared Dalish - Duncan sprang forward, his blade sinking into Jory's chest, piercing his heart. Gasping out, Jory fell to the ground, dead. Duncan bowed his head as he resheathed his knife. "I am sorry, Jory," he whispered.

Alistair had released Adela, and she stepped away from him, but did not make a move to run. She stared at Jory's body for a moment, surprised that Duncan actually killed the man because he was afraid. _There is no turning back _Duncan had said.

Duncan was speaking to her now. Shaking her head, she turned her attention to the Commander, trying to focus on his words. She could not understand them, they seemed garbled and like so much gibberish. _Don't panic_, she scolded herself as she reached for the chalice Duncan held out to her. Biting her bottom lip, she looked into the cup.

The contents were black, brackish, with a vile odor. Anxiety caught her breath, but she knew if she refused, Duncan would kill her as he had poor Jory. She had no doubt of that. Not his friendship with her mother, not hers with Cailan and Anora, or their own growing friendship would stay his blade. The Grey Wardens did what they had to do to stop a Blight, even if it meant keeping their secrets safe. Now she truly understood why her mother had hated the order so; _the secrecy_, and what terrible secrets they did, indeed, have. She found she could not even blame Duncan. He would not have known until his own joining. Honorable as he was, with such a strong sense of duty, he would not let any of those secrets out, even to spare someone he may care for.

Taking a breath, she brought the cup to her lips, swallowing the contents. The taste was bitter, and burned down her throat. The burning felt like acid and fire, lightening and frost, twisting its way down her throat. The thought _and so I die_ crossed her mind, and she fought the fear that rose with that thought. Gasping, she fell to the cold stone, where darkness overtook her.

Alistair rushed forward, kneeling beside the prone elf. Duncan watched as he checked her pulse, and noted the relief that spread unchecked over the young man's face. Duncan set the cup down, and allowed himself to feel the same relief. She lived, just as he thought she would.

He frowned as he looked at the bodies of the two men. Daveth's death he had not expected, but he had doubted Jory would have survived even if he had drank of the chalice.

He turned back to see that Alistair had picked the girl up and was holding her in his lap.

"Are you alright here?" he asked the younger man.

Alistair looked up. "If it's all the same to you," he replied, "I'll...I'll just stay here with her until she awakens."

While he normally would not have encouraged such coddling after a joining, Duncan was not about to dissuade the young man. "Of course. I need to find Artan anyway and inform him of the results of the joining." He looked sadly over at the bodies of Jory and Daveth. "And, I'll send someone over to remove the other two before she awakens. She does not need to see that."

Alistair nodded to Duncan and did not watch as he walked away. He turned his eyes back to Adela, brushing a stray lock from her face. He allowed himself a small, almost sad smile as he noted the dirt and blood that remained on her face and in her hair.

_She is definitely going to want a bath._

DA:O

"So?" Duncan's huge second asked as he stalked up to his Commander. "Did the li'l lass survive?"

Duncan looked up into the larger man's face and nodded. "That she did my friend."

"Huh." the bear of a man scoffed, "Who'd've thunk it. Scrawny thing like that…" he glanced over at Duncan. "'Course, she probably got her ma's temerity, eh?"

Duncan chuckled. "And then some."

"An' the others?" Artan was frowning. He had a feeling at least one of those men had perished. It was seldom that all recruits survived. And Artan just had a feeling that the squirrelly knight wouldn't have the balls to survive. Duncan confirmed that much, but surprised him when he told him of Daveth's dying.

"Humph!" the big man sighed, "Someone with that guy's nerve I'd've thought would'a lived. He jest seemed to have that survivor's knack." He shrugged. "Got someone cleaning up, eh?" Right to the point, Artan never danced around a subject, even one as unpleasant as removing the bodies of those who died during the joining.

Duncan nodded, pulling the treaties from their pouch and looking them over. "Indeed. Timmins and Reese are doing so now."

Artan scoffed, frowning, "What 'bout that li'l chantry boy?"

Duncan chuckled at that. Alistair was one of the larger men in the Wardens, standing several inches taller than Duncan did. Of course, everyone was small compared to Artan.

"Why ain't he cleanin' up the mess?"

Duncan looked over at the man from under furrowed brows. "He's watching over Adela at the moment."

_Well…ain't that interestin'_?

Artan stared at his commander for a moment, then suddenly barked out a bellow of a laughter. "Now! Who'd'a thunk it!" Duncan looked up, surprised. "If'n I di'nt know better, I'd be thinking that you planned that."

He laughed harder at Duncan's raised brows. "Now, doncha be tryin' to deny it, you old fool. Yer tryin' to get the li'l boy hooked, ain't ya?" Artan nudged Duncan's shoulder. Well, nudged for Artan is nearly knocking the man off his feet.

Steadying himself, Duncan replied. "And how could I do that, my friend?"

"Pfwt!" he nearly spit. "Now we're all aknowin' yer practically a da to the lad. And, then you come back with a pretty li'l thing, sweet as can be, smart, and brave. I'm fair certain you di'nt bring her back fer yerself," his blue eyes went shrewd. "Or did ya?"

Rolling his eyes, Duncan shook his head. "I've done no such thing, Artan." He looked at his friend. "If Alistair likes the girl, and she likes him as well, then we will count that as a happy coincidence."

"Yeah, yeah," Artan mumbled, walking away to resume his duties. "Wha' ever ya say, boss."

DA:O

_Roiling black clouds blocked the sunshine, the smell of blood and death and decay assaulted her senses. Above, a terrible screaming roar shot through the air, vibrating in her ears, making her knees tremble. Staring up, she saw the huge, dark shape of the great dragon swoop down to her, its near skeletal form covered with taut skin. Giant wings beat the air, creating tornadoes in their midst, and its tail lashed behind it maliciously. Shielding her eyes from the maelstrom, Adela rose to her feet, steadying herself against the fierce winds. Then, the dragon reared back, and then lunged at the girl, breathing fire and smoke, lightening and frost…._

Screaming, Adela lurched up, holding her head in trembling hands. She felt strong arms wrap around her, a soft, gentle voice speaking soothing words. Steadying her breathing, she swallowed her terror, taking deep breaths while listening to the calm voice.

Still not quite focused or aware of where she was, she glanced around. _Oh yes_, she thought, _the joining_.

Jory and Daveth were gone; Duncan stood nearby, watching. She looked up at the young man who held her. A brief moment - a terrible body memory - and she stiffened, jerking her body instinctively away from Alistair. Shaking her head - _this is not Vaughan _- she tried to force herself to relax, but her body would not obey her mind and remained stiff and unyielding. She felt Alistair twitch in confusion, a questioning look on his fine face, but he released her and stood.

Duncan, seeing that she was awake, walked over to the pair as Alistair helped Adela to her feet.

"How do you feel?" Alistair asked, holding her hand, concern in his voice.

She nodded, finding it hard to find her voice. _What was that she saw_? She swallowed, and spoke, "I'm…I'm fine. A terrible dream, that's all."

Duncan and Alistair both nodded. "You will find that you will have these dreams often." Duncan put his hand to her chin and tipped her head up. "There are a great many things you will learn about what it is to be a Grey Warden over the months to come."

She nodded. "More secrets, I suppose," she replied, frowning deeply.

"Indeed." Duncan acknowledged, his eyes searching her face. "Take a few moments. Then join me for a meeting. You will find us to the west."

_What_? "What meeting?" she asked, strength returning, she pulled her hands from Alistair's grip and stood facing her Commander.

"A strategy meeting with the king and Teryn Loghain," Duncan frowned. "I am not certain why they requested your presence, however."

Grimacing, she looked down at herself. _Still dirty_. "I don't suppose I have time for a bath?"

Duncan noted the disgust in the girl's voice. If he had his way, she would be on her way to the bathhouse and then to bed. But, as it was, with both the king and teryn requesting her presence…"I'm afraid not quite yet, little lady."

"Before I forget," Alistair was saying, pulling an amulet and chain from his side pouch. "It's tradition that each new Warden receives one of these amulets. It contains a bit of the blood used at the joining." He fastened the amulet to the chain and then slipped it over Adela's head. "To remember those who didn't make it this far."

The girl held up the amulet. Emblazoned on its shiny surface was the emblem of the Grey Wardens: a rearing griffon.

Duncan was turning to leave. "Wait, Duncan," she called, hurrying to his side. "I'm ready to go now."

Duncan studied her face carefully. It was obvious the girl was quite shaken, and he felt that it was more than just the dream. However, they had never spoken of it before, and now was not the time to broach the subject. "Are you certain?" He felt a great deal of pride as she resolutely nodded her head. He motioned for her to go ahead. She took a step forward, and then turned back to Alistair.

"Thank you, Alistair," she said, giving him a tremulous smile. "For staying with me."

Alistair smiled widely. "Anytime."

She turned back to Duncan and followed him to the strategy meeting.

DA:O

The pair headed toward the war council area, where Cailan and several others stood. When Adela spotted Loghain, she had an almost unconscious thought to fix her hair. Grimacing at the stiff feel, she let her hands fall to her sides. Nothing short of a good, hot soak was going to make her hair resemble anything shy of a bloody helmet. Frowning, shoving aside any hopes of protecting her vanity, the girl followed the Grey Warden Commander.

Cailan was the first to take note of their entrance. He offered Duncan a wide smile, but his eyes widened and the smile fell when he saw Adela and the bloody, dirty shape she was in.

The young king's reaction at the sight of the elven woman captured the attention of Loghain, who was bent over a topographical map depicting the Ostagar ruins in great detail. The teryn's eyes narrowed at her sorry state, casting a malevolent glare at her commander.

Adela rolled her eyes at both men, raising her hands. "I'm fine, I'm fine," she sighed, "All of this mess - not mine." She grinned - _actually grinned _- as she said that. It was true. Despite these two men - wonderful though they were - trying to convince her and anyone else who would listen that she was not a warrior, she had come back from the Wilds virtually unscathed and covered with the blood of many darkspawn that had fallen to her bow and blades. She hoped these two would finally see that she could take care of herself.

Cailan's horrified expression eased, but when she looked at Loghain, she could tell he was not convinced nor calmed. If anything, he seemed angrier. _Ah, well_, she thought, _I'll just have to deal with that later._

As Duncan and Adela took their places opposite Cailan and Loghain at the table, others walked in. One, an elderly woman with a perpetual scowl of self-importance, dressed in elaborate chantry robes, strolled in, flanked by several Templars. Adela knew immediately that this was the Grand Cleric, for she had seen her often at the Denerim Chantry.

The other was a squirrelly looking man dressed in heavily embroidered mage robes with a bald head and his own air of self-importance. _Obviously a mage_.

The two glared openly at each other as they took opposite stances to the side as the king, teryn and Warden Commander discussed the upcoming battle.

Truthfully, Adela found the meeting rather boring. She had no knowledge of strategy, and could offer no advice or suggestions. Duncan, Cailan and Loghain discussed, argued and strategize as the Grand Cleric and mage continued to scowl and glare at each one another.

Adela did notice that occasionally the Grand Cleric's attention would shift to her, an obvious look of disgust and disapproval clear on her overly wrinkled, sour face. _Either she's unhappy an elf is here, _Adela thought without any humor_, or she, too thinks I really need a bath._

Cailan and Loghain were currently arguing about the front lines and the possibility of waiting for the Orlesian forces to arrive. Loghain was adamant that they did not need the Orlesians and had actually called Cailan a fool. Adela stared at the Teryn. Never had she heard him use that tone of voice with Cailan, ever. The king himself seemed a bit taken aback by Loghain's attitude, and, in a firm voice, proceeded to remind the Teryn just who the king was here.

Adela glanced over at Duncan; he too seemed surprised by the turn the conversation was taking.

"Who will light the beacon?" Cailan was asking.

Loghain shrugged. "I have an idea as to who should go and light it. It's not a dangerous mission, but it is vital." The Teryn's eyes rested upon Adela. "I think Adela should be given that task."

Cailan chuckled. "Now there is something we both can agree to." The king turned to Duncan. "And Alistair should accompany her."

A strange, veiled look passed over Loghain's face, but it was gone, replaced with his usual scowl. "Fine. So long as the beacon is lit as it should."

The meeting was concluded shortly thereafter. As Adela passed nearby Loghain, the Teryn walked over to her, easily meeting her strides. "Adela," he said in low tones. "I wish to speak with you." He looked up and then back into her eyes. "I'll send a messenger along to fetch you."

The elf looked up in his icy eyes, a questioning frown on her face. She nodded, saying, "I really need a bath, first."

Loghain chuckled, stepping back to look at her. She was covered in blood and dirt, locks of her hair encased in blood. "That you most certainly do, dear girl." With that, he nodded to her and left.

Duncan had come up to her side by then, his questioning eyes following Loghain. The pair resumed their walk to the camp in silence.

Alistair was not at the site, and so Adela did take that opportunity to retrieve her toiletries and went to the bathhouse. The servants had made a point of assuring there would always be a hot bath available behind the partitions. Grimacing as she peeled off her filthy armor, the girl sighed as she sank into the steaming water. Ducking down, she fully immersed herself in the water, letting it soak into her hair. Picking up her bar of soap, the girl washed herself, letting her bath take as long as it took the water to cool.

Washed, dressed in a clean tunic and breeches, her hair combed back in a damp curtain down her back, she gingerly carried her armor back to camp and tossed her pack back into her tent.

She was unsure as to why Loghain asked to speak with her. She was already fully aware he was not pleased with her joining the Wardens and she truly hoped this was not another lecture. At this point, where she had passed the joining, she felt that the matter needed to be put to rest.

She combed her fingers through her hair (so nice and clean), sat before the fire, picked up a cloth and began to scrub the dirt and blood from the armor.

Her hair was almost dry, curling around her face, a shimmering wave of blonde down her back. She had just finished oiling her armor when Loghain's messenger arrived.

With a sigh, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose, the elf roe and followed the young man to Loghain's tent. The guard standing duty was different from the one who was there the first time she visited with the Teryn, and this one greeted her with a slight nod of the head. The messenger bowed slightly, taking his leave. Smiling, the elven woman stepped through the flap and into the cool, dark interior of Loghain's tent.

She very nearly screamed as strong hands enclosed about her shoulders, pulling her forward.


	10. Chapter 10

_Ready? Set? I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine, although Loghain did abscond with it. *shrugs* go figure). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. I have also posted a new story DragonAge: The Halla which tells of the first time Adaia, Maric, Rowan & Loghain meet. Each chapter will be a POV from each of them. I'd like to say it's required reading, but, it really isn't. Just an idea Windchime68 tossed my way, so I ran with it._

_As always, thank you all for the reviews, alerts and favorites. Biff McLaughlin, mutive, zevgirl, Windchime68, Arsinoe de Blassenville. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum. And I'm loving the alerts/favs!_

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 10_

It was late afternoon, nearing early eve. There was a heavy, moist feel in the air, and Alistair was certain it was going to rain. _Wonderful_, he thought as he wandered about the camp. _Just what we need the night of battle_. He frowned, staring out toward where the rest of the Wardens were camped, lifting his gaze further to stare in the direction where the main battle would occur. He imagined fighting not just the darkspawn but mud…and having it in his boots, on his shield, in his eyes, _in his hair_…

Feeling uncomfortable in his splint mail armor, the young man continued his walk, trying to ease his nerves, wondering if he should just remove his armor for now. He sighed. Considering how long it took to take it off and put it back on, and then get reacclimated to it's weight and the feel…no, he'll just suffer for now. There'll be plenty of time after the battle...His sight found the designated battle area again.

This would be his first real battle. Certainly, he had fought darkspawn before, packs of wolves, and once a small group of bandits. But, those had been small battles, over in minutes. Never had he experienced a battle in a war. And that was what they were in, whether Cailan or Loghain or any of the others would admit it. The Blight was upon them, and that meant they were at war. Going into battle, thrown right into the hoard, surrounded by foes at each turn…he longed to prove himself in such a battle. He just couldn't shake the bit of fear and, well okay, he could admit it, terror that rose whenever he thought of it.

His circuit took him back around to the campsite. A quick inspection told him that Adela was not there. Stepping over to the fire, he saw that the flap to her tent was slightly open. He went over and noticed that her armor - now clean and oiled - leaned against the entry, holding the flap open. _It's going to rain_, he thought as he reached in, tucked the armor further in and closed the flap.

Amber eyes shifted upwards to the sky, watching as the clouds continued to roll in, confirming his belief it _was _going to rain. He went over to the fire, tossing a few logs to keep it burning bright and high. Pulling his sword and shield off his back, the young man sat down. He was worried about Adela being in battle. She was brave, no one would doubt that. And she seemed to accept her fate in the Wardens readily enough. A frown formed between his brows. But he doubted - very much so - that she would be ready for the upcoming battle. He looked around, hoping that Duncan would just magically appear to tell him that Adela would not be heading into battle, that she would be placed with the archers on the bridge, or kept at camp completely out of harm's way.

Alistair knew his thoughts did the girl no justice, and he felt momentarily ashamed of them. But, if he was to be realistic (_that was a good an excuse as any_), he had to admit she wasn't all that ready for battle. He sighed. But, is anyone really ready their first time, he had to wonder. He recalled his first fight to the death, the aforementioned bandits. He had been scared near shitless. Yet, he had fought well - after all, it was his life or theirs. And they were bandits. He shook his head, bowing it slightly. Even with that bit of realization, he still could not help but feel more than a little trepidation that the elf would be put smack dab on the front lines with the other Wardens. What use her bow there?

"Bah!" he said, lifting his head and then resuming his search for Duncan.

He saw Duncan approach him, a determined look on his face, a confident stride. _And just on cue_, Alistair thought wryly as he rose from his seat to great his commander.

DA:O

Rain before the battle…Duncan frowned as his gaze swept upwards to the gathering storm clouds. Not just rain but a storm. _How appropriate_.

The Warden Commander was pleased that the King and Teryn Loghain had agreed that Adela be the one to light the signal beacon. Despite his belief that she would do well in the Wardens, he did not want to risk her in the battle. She had not the skill or fortitude at this juncture to be on the front lines.

His gaze lowered, sweeping over the camp, coming to rest on the familiar figure of the junior Warden (_no, he is not the junior warden any longer_). He took a breath, and let it out slowly, resuming his walk toward the camp site.

Alistair, on the other hand, was not going to be happy about being kept out of the fight. How many times had the young man mention his desire to prove himself worthy of the Wardens? The commander shook his dark head. Too often, in his opinion. While he was grateful that Alistair was so adamant about the wardens, he feared that the lad had not yet realized the realty that was being a warden. _He's still young_, he thought, _a different young than I ever was. _

"Alistair," the elder man greeted as he entered the campsite, pushing old memories away. He glanced around. "Adela is not back yet?"

He noted a look of confusion mar the younger man's face. "I thought she'd be with you?"

"No such luck," Duncan remarked without humor. "The Teryn had requested a moment of her time." A drop of water splashed upon his hawk like nose, and he squinted up. "I expect her to return shortly."

As intermittent drops of water fell around from, the commander advised the younger warden of his assignment. Alistair's reaction was about what Duncan had expected.

"What!" he demanded incredulously, "I'm not going to be in the battle?"

"Alistair, it's by the king's own request," Duncan tried to soothe.

"Oh?" there was that frown again. "Doesn't he think Adela can do the job? She's quick and able…"

Duncan nodded. "Yes, yes, I know. And, personally, I agree. However, whatever his reasons, those are his orders: You and Adela will go to the Tower of Ishal and light the beacon." The authoritative tone in Duncan's voice left no room for argument. He was pleased Alistair recognized it.

A red-gold brow quirked up. "How did Adela take the news?"

"Quite well, actually. I think she was privately pleased she wouldn't be facing the hoard at this time."

"Hmmm…."

Duncan's gaze went to where Loghain's tent stood. The sprinkle of rain had increased slightly, but could not yet be called actual rain. There were still a few hours before the armies were to get into position, still hours before meeting the hoard of darkspawn that plagued the Wilds.

"Make certain, once the armies move into position, that you and Adela make your way to the tower. Once the beacon is lit, I want you both to remain and help hold the tower," he commanded, "And here," he handed Alistair a leather pouch. "Make certain Adela keeps these on her at all times." and he turned to leave. Alistair accepted the pouch without question.

"Duncan," Alistair spoke, putting out a hand to rest on his commander's shoulder. "May the Maker watch over you."

He nodded in response. "And may He watch over you and Adela as well, my boy." He patted the young man's shoulder noticing as Alistair straightened under the attention. Giving him a small smile, the Commander of the Grey walked away.

DA:O

A noise at the entrance to the tent jolted him awake, startling up from an uneasy rest filled with dark shapes and harsh whispers. The light shifted, and a small, slender form entered. Quickly, with grace and skill that easily belied his size and age, he reached out with his strong hands and grabbed hold of the intruder by the shoulders.

A started "yelp" in a very soft, feminine voice surprised him, and his grip only tightened, the need to _hurt _racing through his veins. He suppressed the violent urge and struggled with the small form. There was another gasp, and the struggling figure twisted agilely in his hands and a foot lashed out and connected with his knee. A curse erupted from his lips, and he released his hold. Eyes now adjusted to the dim light that creeped in from the slightly open entrance, he was able to make out the small form of an elven woman. Lurching forward, he grabbed hold of the figure, wrapping one arm under her neck, the other around her waist.

"Adela," he breathed in her ear, feeling her body stiffen against him, "Relax…."

"Loghain?" She tried to turn her head to look at him. His hands fell away and she turned to face him. "Why did you grab me?" she asked, breathless. "Why is it so dark in here?"

There was a moment of silence, his mind in a confused haze. He heard his guard shift outside, "Teryn? My Lord?" the guard called.

Frowning, Loghain called back, "All is well, Geoffrey. Adela merely tripped." He listened as his guard returned to his post.

He crossed the room, and pulled the hood from the nearby lantern, filling the room with light. Loghain frowned at her, and he heard her gasp as her eyes adjusted and settled upon his half naked form.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

Adela remained where she stood, confusion marring her lovely face "You asked me to come here," she spoke in those same gentle tones, ones he had heard her use to placate others so handily with. "You even had a messenger fetch me."

"I must have forgotten," he mumbled, his eyes focused on the elf before him. He shook his head, bringing a hand to his forehead. _He had asked her here_? _Why could he not remember? Why would he ask her here?_

"Loghain?"

He opened his eyes, raising his head. The girl - _no, not a girl. A young woman _- looked concerned. He ran his hands through his black hair, very much aware of Adela's presence in the room, aware of his shirtless condition. Very much aware as she took a step closer.

That feeling came over him. One he had fought against in smaller amounts whenever he was with this girl - this _woman_. But, as with all of his emotions of late, this one was urgent, strong, an almost violent need that suddenly sprang upon him. The urge to act was overwhelming…

And he moved, reaching out, grabbing the startled woman, pulling her to him. He bent his head to her, his mouth pressing against hers. He felt her startled gasp against his mouth, felt her body stiffen as he pulled her closer. Tiny hands pushed against his chest, and she struggled against the stronger man. All thought seemed to leave him; he fell within himself, no longer aware of what he did. Oblivion seemed to take hold for a moment, but slowly, carefully, he was able to claw his way up and out. He had pushed Adela away from him - or maybe she had managed to do so herself - but his hands remained grasping her arms - tightly. He saw fear on her face, in her eyes and he flinched. Moreover, mixed with that fear was something else. A look he would never have expected on her face, of all faces. He took a deep breath, once again fully in control of himself, his wants, desires….all of those were firmly back down, tucked away. Now was not the time for this.

"Adela…" he began, but stopped. The sound of his heart pounded deafeningly in his ears. What could he say? He had known the elven woman since she was a child. Nothing in their shared history would have given him any cause…any reason to believe that this was what she would want. Chagrined, his head bowed. He was surprised when a small, delicate hand touched his cheek. A sharp intake of breath, and he raised his eyes.

Adela was watching him carefully, her bluest eyes fixed upon his face. He wondered, briefly, what she must think of him. His surprise was complete as she stepped forward, rose on her toes, and gently kissed him on the lips. He frowned, puzzled, but before he could respond to the contact, she stepped back, equally confused, the fear still on her face, that look upon her face that screamed '_flee_'. But now he understood that other expression.

Desire.

He wanted to take hold of her again, press her slender body against his, and give in to that desire…that need and want. He wanted to feel his pulse speed up and that light headedness that accompanies the rush of adrenaline when _that _feeling overwhelms. _He wanted…_

He did not, could not. That fear he saw…

"Adela," he breathed her name hoarsely, stepping away before he did something foolish - _again _- something neither of them seemed quite ready for yet. She seemed surprised by her own reaction and stepped back as well.

"This is foolish," the teryn growled, watching as her right brow rose. "We've no time to…"

"I know, Loghain," Adela said in her soft voice. "I had no idea…" She hung her head, at an obvious loss as to what to do, or even where to turn her eyes. And he could read it so clearly on her face, her body language. She felt _shame_.

Outside of the tent, the camp was alive with shouts and the sounds of soldiers readying themselves for battle. Inside that tent the silence that had fallen was nearly as loud and penetrating. Reaching out, Loghain took hold of her hands, pulling her gently towards him. He bent his head, and she raised her eyes. Nodding with decision, Loghain spoke.

"Now is not the time for this," he stated again, in a stronger voice. "But know that once this is all done, you and I need to discuss it further." He smiled as she raised that brow again.

She nodded her agreement. And turned as though to leave.

Another decision made.

"Hold a moment, Adela," he turned away and walked to the cordoned off chamber to the back of his tent. From his trunk, he pulled out a small wooden box. Cocking his head, he listened, hoping she remained, almost fearing that she would. He opened the box and pulled out an amulet he had had created, just for her, just prior to coming to Ostagar. He meant to give it to her upon his return (he used the excuse of her birthday as the reason for such a gift). He told himself that he had brought it with him as he felt no where would be better to keep it until then. _Sodding old fool, _came the harsh thought_, you know that is just an excuse._

Palming it, he took a deep breath, calming his nerves, his hand going to the pocket of his breeches, feeling the familiar shape therein.

He had no idea how he could not remember asking her to visit him. He could not explain the surge of desire that had called for him to take hold of her, to _take _her. He looked down at his closed hand. But, he knew that it was no random thing. There was a reason he did not want her here, did not want her part of the Wardens. Wanted her safely back in Denerim, where she and Anora could keep one another company until he and Cailan returned. However, he would still not acknowledge that, _could _not acknowledge it while the battle still loomed ahead, while there was every chance neither he nor Adela would survive.

And so he stepped back through the curtain, determined not to say another word. He surprised himself by being pleased she waited.

Standing before her, feeling rather like the young man he had been far too long ago instead of the old (_lecherous, some would say_) man he now was, he took one of her hands and placed within it the silver charm he had created just for her. They didn't say another word, aware that all talk would need to wait until after this battle. With a nod, her eyes going to her still clenched hand, Adela turned. Loghain watched as she stepped out of the tent, leaving him to his overwhelming emotions.

And a burgeoning headache.

DA:O

Stepping away from the tent, she took a few steps, and then turned, staring with open confusion at the tent. _What just happened_? She asked herself. Still clutching the charm Loghain had placed in her hand, still not taking a look at it, she walked slowly back to her camp.

She was confused and upset with herself. She had thought she had gotten over her infatuation with Loghain long ago. She had to as she knew that she would have to marry another elf; there could not ever be a future with a human, especially one as highly placed as Loghain. She snorted. She had never imagined that the teryn could ever have those feelings for her.

Yet, she remembered the way he had grabbed hold of her. So unlike the way Vaughan had held her, and taken possession of her. She shuddered. She had felt fear, almost overwhelming, when Loghain had first put his hands on her and pulled her to him. And when his lips first met hers, all she could remember was Vaughan's lips on hers, seeking possession - ownership - of her. And how he had taken it.

She furiously shook her head. _Loghain was not Vaughan_. But Loghain had initiated the kiss with a demanding start. And in her panic she had fought against him. He held her tight and the kiss changed into something that had no reminded her of Vaughan. Yet, she still fought and pushed away, when Loghain had suddenly pushed her back. The look in his eyes had startled her, terrified her. They were his eyes still, not the cloudy, murky gaze she thought she had seen days before. But they held an intensity she was not able to identify. She clutched the token in her hand tighter and continued to walk toward the campsite.

Alistair sat before the fire, staring into the flames.

Her frown deepened. And what kind of a woman was she? She wondered. She had been flirting with the young Warden earlier. And now all she could think of was Loghain's lips upon hers? Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. She could not dispel the bit of disgust that rose up in her chest. She would have to sort this out, she knew that. She knew her feelings for Loghain were strong - she had known him a long time. Had had years for her infatuation to grew. And here was Alistair. A nice man, who obviously liked her. And she found she liked him as well.

She resumed her walking.

And, if she was to be pragmatic about it and use her head, with Loghain what could she have? Maybe be his mistress? If things were to progress that far even? With Alistair…_no, stop that_! She scolded herself. _You are getting far too ahead of yourself_.

After the battle, she decided. She would not need to make any kind of decision regarding anything until after the battle.

The charm in her hand pinched her flesh as she tightened her grip. Opening her palm, her breath caught in her throat as she gazed with disbelieving eyes.

There, wrought in fine silver, etched in gold, was a rendition of the ivory stylized halla she had carved for Anora years ago.

DA:O

The human woman watched with open contempt as the elven woman - _the knife eared whore_ - walked away from her Lord's tent. She had never understood Teryn Loghain's fascination with the elf, although the woman believed perhaps some of King Maric's preference for the beasts may have rubbed off a bit. After all, Teryn Loghain had also been a _friend _to this elf's mother.

She frowned, the gesture making her plain face seem harsh, stark against the darkening skies. Her countenance was plain, her dark brown hair pulled back in severe bun at the back of her head, brown eyes that took in everything around them but gave nothing back. Tall, muscled like a man, with long legs and large, rough hands, there was nothing feminine about this woman.

Forcing her eyes from the retreating form of the elf, she turned to her lord's tent. Small drops of rain began to fall from the ever darkening skies, and she blinked. She remembered when she had first met Loghain, alone and beset by bandits. She, a poor farmer's daughter, had aided him. And he in return took her away from that life - a life that would have meant virtual servitude on that dirt farm, with the only prospects being to perhaps marry another dirt farmer. Instead, she rose in the ranks and was now commander to Maric's Shield, His lieutenant.

She noticed an elven servant approaching, a tray laden with food for the teryn. Nodding to herself, she approached the elf, pulling a wine skin from her hip. She spoke briefly with the elf, placing the skin on the tray. The elf nodded once, and stepped in front of Loghain's guard. The guard allowed her entrance.

Cauthrien watched as the elf disappeared into the tent. _At least this knife-ear knows her place. _She did not leave her spot until the elf left, tray empty. Nodding, the commander of Maric's Shield turned to inspect her troops.

Battle would begin soon.

DA:O

Alistair was pouting. Adela could not believe it. He was actually pouting. And, well, he whined a little, too. He noticed her grinning at him and his pout grew deeper. Laughing, she playfully swatted his arm, her own concerns momentarily forgotten with the young man's antics.

"Come now, Alistair," she teased her fellow Warden. "It won't be so bad."

"Oh, yes, right," he responded, that snide sarcastic tone fully in his voice. "Instead of being on the front lines with my brethren, I get to light a fire. " He frowned. "Hey look!" he picked up a piece of wood and tossed it into the campfire. "I can light a fire!"

Raising her face up, letting the rain that continued to fall land on her cheeks, blinking as the drops caught in her long lashes, she laughed again. "Well, at least we can be out of the rain."

"Not helping," he called over. She looked over and saw the smile on his face.

She grinned back at him, and sat down on the log. Patting the space beside her, she voiced an idea she had. "You know, Alistair. There's nothing saying that we can't go to the tower before the start of battle." Alistair sat down, looking at her with interest. "We could go sooner, take a leisurely walk to the top, and pick a comfortable spot to watch the battle and await the signal to light the beacon."

Alistair was looking into the fire. "Well?" Adela nudged him with her shoulder. She hoped he found that her idea had merit. She really did not want to just sit and wait here. She wanted to do something, even if just meant walking up a few flights of stairs and watch something other than Loghain's tent.

The young man turned to her, watching her as she gazed into the flames. "You know," he said smoothly, "that may not be a bad idea." He looked at her. "And even though we're essentially playing errand boy…" he grinned as she looked at him "and girl, you may still want to put your armor on."

Pleased he agreed, she slapped her hands to her knees and rose, ducking into her tent to put on her leather armor.

A few moments later, garbed in her armor, tucking the charm Loghain gave her into the breast of her leather top, with her bow and quiver upon her back, daggers at her hip, the elf exited her tent.

DA:O

The rains had come, and in full force. Thunder boomed and lightening crackled against the black sky as the downpour of acidic rain harried the soldiers who prepared for battle, creating instant morasses of mud, running beneath armor. While the warriors tried to maintain an air of stoicism as they prepared for battle, the harsh change in the weather was an ill omen to them all.

The elf and human made their away across the bridge that connected the main army camp with the Tower of Ishal. The rain pelted down, slapping Adela's face, soaking her hair and her armor, making it heavier. She stole a glance over to her companion - he didn't fare much better. _At least he has a helm to protect his eyes_, she thought glumly. The pair quickened their pace, stopping briefly to watch as the soldiers began to file onto the battlefield, organizing into groups. The hounds had been pulled from the kennels and stood beside their masters. Archers began to line up along the walls of the bridge and other battlements surrounding the field. The pair exchanged worried glances. _Soon_.

Unbelievably, the rain started to come down harder. Cursing, Alistair took a firm hold of Adela's hand and practically dragged her across the bridge. At least inside the tower they would be out of this torrential downpour.

Alistair grinned as he said, "Maybe it's a good thing I won't be in the battle!" he joked as they neared the tower.

Shaking her head, the elf opened her mouth in reply, but was cut short by the shouting of two men approaching them: a mage and guard.

Fear was plastered on their faces as they told the Wardens that the darkspawn had infiltrated the tower. Without a word, barely a glance, the pair of Wardens bolted off to the tower, followed closely behind by the guard and mage.

_Oh sod it_! Adela thought as they came upon their first group of darkspawn, _outside the tower_! Notching an arrow, the elf let it fly, not watching as it hit its target in the throat. She was too busy notching another for flight, aiming at an archer that had a bead on Alistair.

Alistair let out a war cry, "For the Grey Wardens!" and attacked the nearest hurlock. He punched out quickly once with his shield, catching the creature solidly in the face. As the beast staggered back, the Grey Warden swung his sword from the side, striking the hurlock at the chest. Twisting the blade slightly, changing his stance just a bit, he then angled the tip and drove it fully into the monster's throat. It fell from his blade, gurgling.

With the other guard taking down a genlock, the mage alternating casting healing and offensive spells, the four easily decimated the small group of darkspawn.

The next group of darkspawn was a bit more organized, considering an Alpha Genlock led them. The mage found the need to resort to keeping the archer and warriors on their feet and spent much of this battle casting healing and regenerative spells. The first time one of the healing spells had been cast upon Adela (she had to abandon her bow for her blades as she was attacked by a huge hurlock, and it knocked her down, cutting a deep gash across her midsection) she was initially startled by the warm, tingling feeling that overcame her. The tower guard had cut the beast down, and she pushed herself to her feet, watching as the blood stopped pouring from her wound and the skin knitted itself together. Casting a grateful look to the mage, she picked up her bow and began shooting down the genlock archers who stood on rises.

DA:O

Alistair thrust his sword into the alpha's chest, grimacing as the beast still had fight left in it to sweep out at his head with its axe. The large man ducked, his sword catching on a rib. Loathe releasing the blade, Alistair twisted, yanking the sword to the side. The darkspawn screamed out in fury and agony, trying to right itself for another swing at the warden. The blade came loose, and Alistair stepped away, bringing his shield up, deflecting the clumsy blow.

Panting, backing up, the two adversaries eyed each other. The alpha was bleeding profusely, and Alistair knew it was only a matter of time before it gave up the ghost. "Just die already!" he shouted as he lunged forward, sword tip leading. The huge darkspawn jerked its head back, avoiding the blade aimed at its throat. Alistair quickly followed up the strike with a shield bash to its chest, opening the wound further. Drawing back, he plunged the sword into its chest again, and this time, the thing had the grace to just die.

Alistair felt the family tingle of rejuvenating magic course through his limbs and, with a feeling of renewal, glanced back to pinpoint his companions' positions.

The mage was standing back from everyone, and the tower guard was running toward the human Warden. Alistair's light brown eyes narrowed in concern. _Where was Adela_? He then noticed that the mage seemed to be working more magic. Running to the top of the ramp he watched as Adela slowly rose to her feet, rubbing her stomach with a shaking hand. He watched as she gave the mage a shaky smile of thanks, and then turn to trudge up the ramp.

"Are you alright?" he asked as she came up alongside him, her bow back in hand, an arrow being pulled from her quiver.

"I'm fine, Alistair," she said in her quiet voice. "I am thinking we should ask Duncan to recruit mages into the Wardens." She swept out a hand to acknowledge the mage (_what was his name_?) as he passed her, a grin on his face as he heard her comment. "They are certainly handy to have in a fight!"

Chuckling, the human warden replied, "I'm certain Duncan would agree with you," he ran a hand over his face, wiping the rain from his eyes. "Come on. Now that we've cleared the darkspawn from the grounds, let's go see what's in store for us inside."

DA:O

Duncan and Artan stood with their Wardens, surveying the scene where this battle would be held. It was a few hours passed nightfall and the rain had eased only slightly. The warm humidity of earlier in the day had been replaced with the crisp chill of an autumn downpour. Artan, with his heavy beard and mane of hair about his head and his leather and fur armor barely took note of the downpour. Duncan had to keep wiping the water from his eyes and grimaced more than once as water ran down the back of his armor.

Artan, noticing his commander shift, chuckled. "Now, if'n you weren't so intent on bein' the pretty boy," the huge barbarian teased his old friend, "an' grew some hair, ya wouldn't be wiping the rainfall from yer eyes ev'ry minute."

Duncan chuckled back at his friend. "I would never dream of out beautying you, my friend."

While the two bantered back and forth, each of them turned their eyes back to their fellow Grey Wardens. Barely two dozen. That was what they had in Fereldan to face this hoard. Neither the king nor Teryn Loghain had been truly interested in awaiting reinforcements from Orlais. Artan had growled out his frustration to Duncan, but both men knew that at this point there was nothing they could do. If the Blight was not stopped here, it would overtake Fereldan and then cross the borders of Orlais.

And it would take decades for the land to recover, if the land would recover. The loss of life made both man shudder at the prospect.

Still, they were Wardens, and it was their duty - above all else - to stop the Blight, at all costs.

There was one thing that had been bothering Artan, and he felt now was as good a time to speak of it as any.

He took a deep breath. He didn't really want to broach this subject, but felt the need to. "Boss," Duncan turned toward him. "Tell me agin why the Orlesian _Wardens _ain't here?" Duncan's brow rose and Artan held up huge hands. "I be knowin' the king thar and teryn don't be wantin' the chevaliers. But the Wardens, too?" He shook his shaggy head. "Makes no sense."

Frowning, Duncan turned his head back to survey the battlefield. It was true, neither Cailan nor Loghain wanted the chevaliers, and Duncan had felt that he had gained the permission to have the Orlesian wardens here. But, after weeks without an answer from Orlais, the Fereldan commander was unsure if his understanding had been correct. Perhaps neither man wanted any Orlesian present - be they chevalier, Warden or servant. For this battle, it was all a moot point anyway. What concerned him now was his second bringing up the question. _Did he have doubts in the Orlesian Wardens_?

Duncan sighed. He knew Artan was a man who did not trust many. It had taken a long time for the friendship between the two men to grow into the complete trust they each held for each other. And Artan was one who only trusts in their _Fereldan _Wardens. He had found the Wardens of other countries to be too closely tied to their respective seats of national power.

The noises of the Wardens talking, making final adjustments to armor and weapons, combined with the nervous murmuring and movements of the gathered forces only served as a backdrop to the noise of the falling rain. Duncan raised his face to the sky, leaving off the conversation with his second for another day. His silence told Artan this much and the big man went about checking his own equipment, and then gave a high, piercing whistle. Those who were nearby and not Wardens glanced over as a huge bear ambled out of the trees, making its way to the Warden's side. Artan spared the startled soldiers a big grin, and then the ranger bent down to scratch affectionately behind its ears.

_Leave it to Artan_, Duncan chuckled to himself, as he patted the huge man on the shoulders and then took his leave to find the king.

DA:O

_This was supposed to be an easy, safe job_, Adela griped as she let loose another arrow from her dwindling supply. The hurlock she aimed at - in all its mottled gray-green skin, skull-faced glory - fell over dead. Alistair and the guard - _Tomas, that was his name _- scoured the room, making certain that the darkspawn that lay upon the ground were dead.

She glanced over at the mage - _okay, I have to stop thinking of him as 'the mage'. I will learn his name_ - and noted his grim smile, assuring her he was well. Nodding, she walked over to the corpses that sprouted her arrows and began carefully removing them from the bodies. She was pleased that many were usable.

The group had fought its way through several rooms on three levels full of darkspawn. They were tired, having many injuries, the more severe being taken care of by the mage, leaving the least serious to mend on their own. Alistair slumped onto the stairs that led to the top of the tower, Adela sitting next to him. She leaned her head against his shoulder and Alistair put his arm about her.

"We're almost there," he assured the small elf, smiling down at her. She returned his smile, nodded, and then rose to her feet.

"Okay, but if there are any more emissaries or alphas or archers up there - even the sign of a darkspawn mouse, I'm going to take a vacation!"

Laughing at his fellow Warden, Alistair rose and motioned for Tomas to follow, Adela next, followed closely by The Mage.

The four climbed the stairwell, and Alistair pushed open the door. As soon as the door, opened, the group could hear unmistakable crunching noises, followed by loud grunts. Confused, the two Wardens climbed up the few steps beyond the door, lying down in an attempt to remain concealed. What they saw was something neither of them was prepared for.

It's back to the door, the huge horned _thing _appeared to be eating something. To their combined horror they identified a pair of legs - human legs - sticking from the side of its face, most likely in its mouth.

"What is that?" Adela's whispered question was intense with terror. Alistair knew from stories told by the other Wardens. Standing easily fifteen feet tall, with massive, twisting horns on its head, this was an ogre. The largest and most fearfully strong darkspawn. Alistair pulled his terrified companion back to the others at the landing below.

Pulling everyone into a tight huddle, Alistair explained their situation in careful, even, quiet tones. The mage and tower guard looked as terrified as Adela did, as terrified as Alistair himself felt. They had to neutralize this threat, quickly.

"Tomas, you and I will approach it from the rear," Alistair instructed, "keeping as quiet as we can. Adela," he turned to the elf, "once we strike, fire your arrows." She nodded. "Just keep firing. Tomas and I will keep its attention on us, you just shoot wherever you can hit. And, Ser Mage," he hadn't learned the mage's name, yet, "your job is to keep Tomas and I on our feet." the mage nodded. With a nod, Alistair and Tomas rose, and carefully and quietly made their way toward the beast which was, fortunately, still enjoying its snack.

DA:O

Adela felt like she was going to vomit. She'd felt terror before, but this surpassed anything she had ever felt. Not witnessing her mother's death, not her kidnapping and rape by Vaughan, not even the joining had placed such foreboding in her heart. She admired Alistair's courage, and was thankful for his taking charge of the situation. She watched as the two warriors made their way to the beast. She turned to the mage.

"Ser Mage," she whispered, moving close to the man. "I fear I have been rather rude to you and not asked your name."

The mage smiled. "Albus," he responded, obviously pleased with the question.

Smiling weakly, pulling her bow off her shoulder, reading an arrow, the elf said, "I'm Adela. I want to thank you for your help."

Albus merely nodded. "It has been an honor fighting by your side, Lady Warden."

Adela smiled at that. She liked that, Lady Warden. "After this, how about I buy you a good, stiff drink?" They both moved to the top of the stairs.

Chuckling, bringing the healing spells he knew he'd need to mind, pulling out a few vials of lyrium potion to keep him fueled, Albus replied, "I would very much like that."

Taking a deep breath, Adela stepped off the stairs, moving carefully for optimal range. _How did the damned thing get up here_? She had to wonder. _It's far too big for the door_!

Alistair and Tomas had managed to approach almost right to the ogre, their shields up before their faces, swords held up, ready to strike high and hard. Alistair seemed to change his mind, and lowered the blade. Then, the two sprang forth.

Tomas jumped up, driving his blade deeply into the creature's lower back, while Alistair went low and cut across the back of its heel, trying to hamstring it. The skin was tougher than he thought and the blade, while cutting deeply and causing injury, did not cause the desired handicap.

With a roar, the ogre leaped up, immediately ready for battle. Its eyes fixed on Alistair, who was the largest and heavier armored of the group. It lowered its head and charged forth, seeking to ram the man from his feet. Alistair backpedaled, keeping his shield and sword up, swiping at the lowered and exposed forehead of the beast. He managed to avoid being trampled and also gained a hit. Blood poured from the gash on its forehead and into its eyes.

Tomas, meanwhile, had worked his way around to the back of the monstrosity, and stabbed again, seeking a kidney to sink his blade into. The ogre's height was a disadvantage to Tomas's strike, and he again only managed a deep hit to its lower back.

Adela kept firing arrows, striking a hit in its shoulders and chest. She focused only on the beast and getting arrows that would cause it harm. Every arrow counted as her quickly dwindling supply would not last long.

Albus tossed a healing spell at Alistair, who had just received a hit from the ogre, tossing the young Warden across the room. Satisfied, he then cast a rejuvenation spell upon the elven archer, then drank down a lyrium potion.

An arrow (_lucky shot_, Adela thought as she notched another) struck the ogre's left eye, driving deeply. Bellowing in pain and rage, the ogre lifted its head, spying Adela. Murmuring for Albus to get out of sight, the nimble elf scampered along the wall, to the opposite side. The ogre turned, following her movements, and she let the arrow she had been holding loose and it struck the ogre in the cheek. Enraged, the beast rushed forth, one massive hand reaching out to grab hold of the elf.

Cursing, she dove forward, under the reaching hand, between its legs, and behind it. Tossing her bow behind her, she grabbed her daggers and drove both deeply into the back of the monster's previously injured ankle, cutting the tendon.

With a bellow, the beast fell to one knee, sweeping out with its hands, seeking the pesky elf. She rolled away from it, sheathing her daggers, and stood by her bow, feeling Albus' rejuvenating spell fall over her. She reached down and picked up her bow, notching an arrow as both Alistair and Tomas raced passed her.

Tomas, now no longer at a height disadvantage, drove his sword again and again into the back of the beast, cutting deeply into one of its kidneys. Hollering in renewed pain, the ogre struggled to rise, but its injured ankle would not hold its weight. Tomas danced aside and drove his blade into the other side, again hitting the kidney.

Alistair stabbed into its exposed side, withdrawing his sword, and bashing the kneeling darkspawn in the face with his shield, driving Adela's arrow deeper into its eye. Grimly, Alistair faced the beast as it tried to regain its footing. Shouting out his war cry, Alistair lunged forward, his blade leading. Leaping from the ground, the Warden drove his blade deeply into the ogre's chest, driving it forcefully into its heart.

Adela continued shooting arrows into its back until the beast fell, dead, to the floor.

Breathing heavily, the four stared numbly at the creature they had felled. Albus, the least physically fatigued of the group, looked at Adela with a wide grin. "My Lady Warden," he said, "I do believe you owe me a drink."

The others stared at him a moment, and then laughed.

DA:O

Sinking to his knees, Alistair tried to catch his breath. _Maker_! If he never had to face another one of those things again in his life it would be too soon! He looked over at his three companions. They had each done well - extremely well. He decided to ask Duncan to extend an invitation to Tomas and Ser Mage (_he still hadn't learned the man's name_!) a place in the Wardens.

Then, concerned they had missed the signal, Alistair pushed himself to his feet and raced over to the window facing over the battlefield. He felt Adela move to his side.

There, on the battlefield, the armies of Fereldan had engaged the darkspawn. He looked over to where he knew the Wardens would be. No, the Warden banner was still up. They had not missed the signal.

"We should probably sit down and rest a bit," Alistair instructed the others as he turned around, placed his back to the window and slid to the floor. Adela moved down and sat next to him.

"I've been thinking," the elf said after she had sufficiently caught her breath. Alistair turned to look at her. "These darkspawn - the ones just outside the tower and within - they had to come from somewhere." She paused. "They didn't come from the Wilds or the Highway. Someone guarding at each gate would have noticed. And someone would have noticed this many darkspawn wandering the camp."

Alistair nodded, waiting for her to continue.

"Well, I think that after we light the beacon, we four venture to the lower levels of the tower and clean those out. I saw stairs leading down when we entered." She looked into Alistair's eyes and the man felt his heart skip. _How could she have such blue eyes_?

Alistair thought on it. It was a good idea. Especially where they had no other orders other than to hold the tower. He looked over at Tomas and Ser Mage (_okay, he had to learn the man's name!_). They had been listening and seemed to be in agreement with the elf. Turning back to Adela, Alistair agreed. The smile that crossed her face brought a smile to his face. He took one of her tiny hands in his and raised it up.

"You did very well, Adela," he praised her. "As did you, too," he congratulated the two non-wardens with them. "Many would have fled at the mere sight of an ogre." he glanced over at the carcass that lay on the opposite side of the room. He chuckled. "I near soiled my drawers when I saw the thing!"

Adela looked scandalized, but the other two laughed heartily at that.

His heart had slowed to normal, and so Alistair rose to keep an eye on the Warden banner. Soon enough, the signal was made: the banner was lowered. With a nod, the Warden went over to the fire pit, Ser Mage following closely. With the minimum of effort, the mage lit the fire, and it blazed up the pile of oil soaked wood, to the very top, it's flames hotly burning.

"Yes indeed," Alistair said as he slapped the mage heartily on the back, not noticing the wince from the smaller man, "we definitely need mages in the Wardens."

A small gasp from the window and the two men turned. Adela stood there, watching. As they neared, they noticed she was pale, her eyes wide in disbelief. Alistair moved quickly to her side, searching for what could have caused her reaction.

The first thing he noticed was a huge ogre (easily twice the size of the ogre they had just defeated) grab hold of a golden armored figure (_Cailan_!). Adela cried out as it flexed its muscles and then tossed the limp form away. Another form, dressed in silver and white, leaped upon the creature, stabbing it multiple times. _That has to be Duncan_! The young man thought, fear and dread coursing through him.

_Wait. Where was Loghain_? His eyes skimmed over the battlefield, but saw no sign of the Gwaren troops. And where was Maric's Shield? A tight feeling came over him, and he felt Adela's tight grasp on his arm. He looked down into her stricken face as the same realization came to mind.

Loghain had deserted the armies.

Loghain had deserted the Wardens.

Loghain had deserted the King.

Loghain had deserted.

They looked out; the darkspawn hoard was massacring the Wardens and the armies Cailan had pulled together.

Without another word, the two Wardens, followed closely behind by the guard and mage, raced from the room, and down the stairs.


	11. Chapter 11

_I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine. Oh! And perhaps the silver halla Loghain had made). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. _

_Also, you'll notice that this story will be being updated on a less than regular basis. The first few chapters were really easy, but, although it's still flowing, the tempo has changed its tune and demands more attention. I'm also working on the next chapter for DragonAge: The Halla that tells of the very first time Adaia meets Maric, Rowan & Loghain and each chapter is their own POV of that meeting. _

_As always, thank you all for the reviews, alerts & favorites. mutive, Windchime68, Arsinoe de Blassenville. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum. And I'm loving the alerts/favs!_

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 11_

_Cailan_!

That single thought pushed the elf along, her legs carrying her away from the tower, gaining ground as she frantically made her way to the main camp. Dodging the few stragglers fleeing the battle site, she quickly gained distance from her companions.

_Cailan_!

She heard her name being shouted from behind her. Who was calling her? She kept running, mindful only that she had seen Cailan fall. Purposefully not thinking of why he fell. Ignoring all else around her save the one thought to get to his side.

_Cailan_!

She didn't think, couldn't think. To do so would be to know that Anora would wait in Denerim for her husband, only to keep waiting in vain. And why…_no, don't think_! And so she pushed all thought aside, just moved on instinct. Rushing passed the infirmary, ignoring the pleas from the prisoner locked in his cage; she sprinted through the gates that led to the Warden's camp.

_Cailan_!

Thought did not guide her hands when a lone genlock rose before her, a leering smile on its death skull face. It lunged at her with its sword, and instinct alone guided the young elf to swing down, ducking under the strike, spinning, her daggers instantly in her hand as she rose, her blades against each side of its neck forming a deadly "V", scissoring the blades, fury lending her strength to cut through the tough skin and sinewy muscle, decapitating the vile thing.

_Cailan_!

Her feet took her away from the Warden's camp and onto the battlefield, where darkspawn systematically cut down the defenders of Fereldan. A huge hurlock stepped into her path, its axe swinging down toward the elf. She danced aside, around to it's back, the heavy momentum of its own swing catching it off balance as it swung at empty air. She jumped forward, plunging one dagger into its throat as the other drove itself into its eye. Convulsing the thing fell dead to the ground. The elf continued her frantic flight through the battlefield.

_Cailan_!

And she spotted him, his golden armor coated with his own blood, his blonde head twisted in an unnatural manner. A sob escaped her lips. A small pain erupted at her shoulder, another behind her knee, but she ignored the pain as she fell to her knees, crying. She felt another jolt in her back, and picked up her friend, her king, cradling his body in her arms, burying her face in his neck.

_Cailan_.

Then pain, fiery and intense, exploded from her back straight through to her stomach, and she gasped, releasing the body she held. Looking down, she watched as the expanse of bloody steel slowly - painfully slow - disappeared from her sight. Blood sprayed from the wound, and the elf found herself falling…

DA:O

_What in the name of the Maker was she doing_? Alistair fumed, fear gripping him as he watched the elf practically fly away from him and the others. They had been fortunate: they encountered no other darkspawn through their flight from the tower. Once their feet hit the stone outside the tower, Adela had cried out the king's name and sprinted away.

The three men cast one quick look to each other, and took off after the elf.

_Don't get killed….don't get killed_. Alistair chanted in his head and he quickened his pace. _Just. Don't. Get. Killed_.

The three men were able to keep the elf in sight, but she was gaining ground away from them. _How could anyone run so fast_? They watched - horrified - as she met the genlock, twisting and spinning with such furious ease, taking its head from its shoulders so easily.

Albus (Alistair had finally asked the man his name) cast a quick healing spell at the elf as she ran off, ignoring the wound the genlock had managed to score before she killed it.

Tomas cursed the elf's speed; Albus cast a regenerative spell at all three of them (_they would need it to catch up with her_, Alistair was certain). They ran passed the infirmary, casting a regretful glance at the screaming prisoner, and continued their chase after the elven woman.

The elf almost vanished from sight as a small group of darkspawn spotted the three men and rushed to meet them.

Alistair and Tomas each fought their own foe, shield and sword, taking them down. As the guard swiped the head from the last genlock to confront them, they heard an astonished gasp and gurgle noise behind them. Albus stood for a moment, transfixed, then blood spurted from his mouth and he fell over dead. Alistair and Tomas each gave a harsh war cry and rushed at and slaughtered the hurlock who had gotten behind the mage and ended his life.

Grimly, reluctantly, the pair of warriors left the body of their comrade and resumed their search and chase of the frantic elven woman.

They cut their way through several groups of darkspawn, and finally spied the elf. She was kneeling on the ground, cradling the armored, bloody form of a man - Cailan! They raced, noting with anxiety that several arrows sprouted from the girl's back and shoulder, one in the back of her knee that she knelt upon, seemingly oblivious to the wounds. They increased their pace, shouting her name, as they saw a massive hurlock run behind her, it's longsword raised and plunging down, into her back and out the front of her abdomen. Alistair screamed her name, rushing up to the beast as it retracted its blade, preparing for another strike that would end the elf's life.

Slamming his shield into its side, Alistair knocked the hurlock down and away from Adela. Sweeping his sword down, he cut across the monster's throat, scoring a bloody hit. Shouting its own fury, the beast pushed itself along the ground, bringing its sword in front of it to deflect more blows as its life blood poured from the wound. Alistair bashed away at the creature, overpowering it, and it dropped its sword. The Warden plunged his blade deeply into its chest, dragging it out again for another plunge.

A shout and scream of pain behind him brought Alistair around. Tomas was fighting a large hurlock and had taken some damage. The guard had inflicted many wounds - severe wounds - upon his foe, but he was tiring. Alistair rushed to his side, driving his blade deeply into the creature's side. But, he was too late. With a last, powerful swing, the Warden watched as the dying monster lunged forward and drove its sword deeply into Tomas' body, angling upwards, piercing his heart. With a sob, Alistair backed away, staring at the body of his last companion.

A quiet sob behind him brought him around, and he turned to stare at the bloody form of Adela. _She lived_! Whispering her name, the Warden pulled her up, frantic as to what to do. A low growl to his right brought his head and sword up.

Standing just a few feet from them stood a black wolf, its yellow predator eyes watching him and Adela with interest. A great cry from above, the sound of 'whooshing' as though from giant wings, and the young man looked up to see a monstrously huge bird swooping down to them. Too tired and miserable to react, the young Warden watched as the bird lighted upon the ground. A great 'boom' sounded and a rush of magic poured from the bird. All of the darkspawn in their vicinity, approaching for an attack, fell senseless to the ground, twitching. The bird's form shimmered and took the shape of the old woman they had met days earlier. The wolf approached, and its shape also shimmered and flowed, taking the form of Morrigan.

Alistair stared at the old woman, who was talking to him. _What was she saying_? He couldn't focus. With a snarl, the woman pried his hands free of the elf he held, 'tsking' as she quickly examined the girl. Morrigan had approached and quickly wrapped the grievous gut wound tightly. The old woman was speaking to Alistair again. "…get you out of here…" was all he could understand.

Shaking her wild head, the woman lifted her arms, resuming the form of the great bird. She gently picked Adela's body up in one talon, and then scooped Alistair in the other. Beating her massive wings, the woman-in-bird-firm rose from the ground, winging her way back to her clearing.

With a snort of disgust, a quick look at the body of the king that lay once more upon the ground, Morrigan's form shifted again to that of the black wolf, and she loped away, toward the home of her mother, and away from the battlefield.

DA:O

The rain had stopped, for that Alistair thought he could be grateful. The rain had stopped and he was alive and staring at the damned hut! Staring at it for two full days, waiting for word of his fellow Warden. Oh sure, Morrigan and her mother would come out periodically, placing bowls of stew in his hands, handing him blankets and a bedroll, telling him to rest and to wait. He had been bloody well waiting for two days, and they never told him anything! Yet all he could do was sit and stare at the damned hut, feeling impotent, lost, alone…

His lids closed over his amber eyes. He went over the entire scene of Adela kneeling, holding Cailan's body. He could not recall seeing Duncan's body, yet he knew - _just knew_ - that the silver and white figure that had killed the ogre had been him. If his body had lain there, nearby, the young Warden was certain he would have noticed it. A ragged sigh. His only hope was that the commander had survived, and yet the young man thought it highly unlikely. He and Adela only managed to survive thanks to the intervention of Morrigan and her mother. Or perhaps only he survived and that's why they hadn't said anything yet. Cursing, the young Warden resumed his post, staring at the damnable hut!

The door to the hut opened, and Alistair's bleary eyes focused upon the slender figure of Morrigan. _Maker, won't she put some clothes on_? The ex-templar thought, trying to keep his eyes from focusing on her barely-covered chest. The witch, noticing his discomfort, smirked at him. That smirk widened, reminding him of a predator stalking its prey, she spoke.

"Mother advises that you are welcome to enter," she stepped away from the door, gesturing to the door. "Your friend has passed through the danger, and now rests peacefully."

His relieved sigh broke out of him as a sob, and he lurched to his feet and stumbled through the door. Morrigan shook her head in disgust, shutting the door behind him with a resounding thud.

Never had Adela seemed as small as she did now, lying upon the room's sole bed, covered with a thick quilt to her naked shoulders. Morrigan's mother had been spooning broth into the young elf's mouth, tilting her head up to allow the liquid to flow down her throat. She was now picking up the empty bowl.

"She lives, boy," the woman was saying, turning her back to the Warden, placing the bowl and cloth upon a nearby table. "She has been starting awake; I expect her to awaken fully soon." she turned back to face Alistair, her strange eyes fixing upon his face. "I think it would be best if you remained in here with her," she moved to stand by his side, her eyes flicking back to the prone elf. "Talk with her, or just sit," she instructed with a shrug as she headed to the door. "Whatever suits you." and with those parting words, she exited the hut.

As the door shut behind the old witch, Alistair pulled a chair near the bed and sat down. Reaching over he brushed a lock of her blonde hair off her forehead, watching as her face twitched from the contact.

"Adela?" he called quietly, moving forward, hovering over her. There was no sign she heard him. Sighing, he sat back, watching the elf.

"You know," he started again, his voice sounding a little strained to his own ears, "you really shouldn't have run off like that, you mad woman you," he chuckled, but there was no mirth in the sound. He placed a hand on one slender shoulder. "Although, if you could fight like that all of the time, the darkspawn won't stand a chance."

His hand tightened around her shoulder, and he found himself giving her a little shake. "Please, Adela," he learned forward again, his lips to her ear, whispering, "please don't leave me," he almost choked at the pleading sound of his own voice. "You're all I have left."

Bending his head down, his forehead resting on hers, the young man prayed and hoped, wished and cajoled at the Maker. Surely he hadn't done something so awful in his life that everyone who ever meant anything to him would be taken away? He frowned at his own self-pity, but found it far easier to wallow there for a while than to think of anything else at the moment.

With a frustrated sigh, he sat up, pulling the pouch that held the treaties up. With a glance to the elf, he pulled the rolled parchments free. As he did so, another piece of parchment, this one folded, with Adela's name written on it in Duncan's hand, fell free. Alistair bent and picked it up, staring at the paper for several moments. Glancing guiltily at the girl, he carefully placed the parchment back into the pouch. It wasn't any of his business what Duncan wrote to Adela, he scolded himself, feeling momentarily ashamed at the thought to read it.

There were three scrolls and these were obviously very old, judging from the quality of the parchment pieces themselves. Each had been sealed in wax and Alistair's templar training allowed him to feel the low buzz of preservation magic that protected each piece. He unrolled each: these scrolls obligated the Dalish, Circle of Magi and the Dwarves to assist the Grey Wardens during a time of Blight. The fourth parchment was a map of Fereldan, depicting clearly the King's Highway, the Coastlands, Bannorn, The Hinterlands and Denerim. Skimming over the textured surface, he was able to locate the Brecilian Forest to the east, Orzammar further west. With a heavy sigh, he carefully replaced them in the pouch.

He was exhausted, he realized. He hadn't slept much these past couple of days. Adela still seemed to be sleeping. Feeling a little self-conscious, yet not wanting to leave her side, Alistair pulled the chair up against the bed and lowered his head to the pillow beside Adela. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, and fell into a light sleep.

And so he awoke, bent over uncomfortably in his chair, his forehead resting against her head. He felt more than heard a sigh escape the elf's lips and he picked his head up just as her eyes opened.

Smiling, he whispered, "Hi there," watching as her eyes focused on him. He noted the confused look that passed over her face, replaced by recognition as she focused on his face.

"Alistair?" her voice croaked out.

The young man nodded, replying, "You know, next time you decide to take on the whole darkspawn hoard, how about you ask for a little bit of help, hmm?"

A frown furrowed her brows and she tried to push herself up. It was then that both of them noticed her less-than clothed condition, and a flush rose on both faces. Grasping the blanket, she pulled it to her shoulders, holding it there as she pushed herself to a seated position, leaning on the headboard.

"Why would I want to take on a whole hoard alone?" she asked. She glanced down at herself. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Alistair asked, more than a little concern in his voice and on his face. She looked up, shaking her head. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, then looked at her. "Do you remember our leaving the tower?" Again she shook her head. "What do you remember?"

She frowned deeper, "I remember watching Cailan being grabbed and tossed by the ogre, and what looked like Duncan attacking the beast. And," she went silent, tears rising in her eyes, "and our realizing that Loghain had left the field without engaging the enemy." Tears now dripping unchecked from her eyes, she looked into Alistair's face. "He left Cailan and everyone there to die." She closed her eyes. "Why would he do that?" Her voice was tiny, weak and carrying more than a hint of despair.

That sick feeling returned to Alistair's gut, and he shook his head. "I don't know, Adela, it makes no sense at all." He looked directly in her eyes. "You really don't remember racing away from us and killing several darkspawn on your own as you searched for Cailan's body?"

He watched as a myriad of emotions and thoughts showed so clearly across that expressive face. Then she took a deep breath and nodded. "I…I remember running, trying not to think. All I knew was that I had to find Cailan, that perhaps he yet lived…" the look of utter despair that was on her face now almost broke Alistair's heart. "But, he _is _dead, isn't he?"

Alistair nodded. "What about Duncan?" her voice was softer, almost as though she feared the answer. Alistair merely shrugged.

"I didn't see his body, but honestly, I didn't think to look," he admitted, bowing his head. He felt her small hand rest on the top of his head. He looked up.

"I'm sorry, Alistair," she whispered. He nodded his thanks, and pushed himself up.

"You really gave me a fright," he gently scolded her, "don't you know that you're our archer and I'm supposed to be the big, tough fighter the darkspawn all fear?"

She smiled at his gentle teasing, and ducked her head down. "I'm sorry running off like that," she frowned, turning her head a bit so that Alistair could not look directly into her eyes, "I've never felt anything that intense before…the anger and rage that rose up was very sudden…" she broke off, shaking her head, turning back to her fellow Warden. "I honestly didn't know I had that kind of…darkness in me."

The flickering fire in the fireplace snapped and crackled, moisture from one of the logs hissing. Alistair searched Adela's face and nodded. "We all have some darkness in us," he said, moving from his chair to take a sit on the bed, putting an arm across the small elf's shoulders. "Your darkness showed itself at the death of …" he stumbled here. _Who was Cailan to you_? "…of someone you knew, our king, at the betrayal of someone who was sworn to the throne, who was supposed to be a hero." he gazed into her eyes. "At least your darkness saw that and only wanted to cut down darkspawn and try and rescue another."

Her eyes met his, she nodded. "Not some maniacal lunatic slaughtering innocents while running through the town center in my small clothes, eh?" she joked, and Alistair noted that she winced, her shoulder twitching somewhat.

Chuckling at her, he replied, "Something like that."

They sat, staring into each other's eyes for several moments. It was Adela who broke the silence. "And, so now what do we do?" The question had to be asked, Alistair knew that. But, yes, exactly what do they do?

He rose, standing, running a hand over his face and then through his hair. "I don't know, Adela." He pulled at the pouch at his hip. "Duncan gave me the treaties - I was supposed to give them to you earlier," he frowned an apology, and she merely nodded. "I…I suppose we could try and meet with these people, gain their support for an army to fight to Blight?"

Adela was frowning, deeply. "But, what if Loghain has these people under his control?" she looked up. "How do we even find these people?" She scowled then, and Alistair realized he did not like that expression on her face. "Who are the treaties for?"

"Elves, mages and dwarves," was Alistair's reply.

"Elves, mages and dwarves," she sighed. "Well, we know where the mages are kept. What about the elves and dwarves? I'm guessing the elves in the treaties are not those found in the Alienages?"

"Dalish," Alistair watched as Adela's gaze sharpened. "They're most likely in the Brecilian Forest."

Nodding, Adela responded, "Yes, yes…perhaps even Mamae's clan could be found." Alistair raised an eyebrow at that.

"Your mother is Dalish?" the young Warden asked, intrigued.

"_Was_," Adela corrected, "she _was _Dalish." She shrugged, clearly not wishing to discuss the 'was' any further at this time. "According to Loghain, from an important family within the Dalish." But he noticed she frowned. "Mamae met Papa when she was in Denerim helping to secure it for King Maric." she shrugged. "She chose to stay. I have no idea how her clan had reacted to that decision, if they ever knew." She frowned again. "Where would we find the dwarves?"

"The dwarves will be in Orzammar," Alistair advised his companion, "in the Frostback Mountains. So, we know where to find them." He looked thoughtful, his lips pressing together in a thin line. "The Arl of Redcliffe would be another wise choice, someone to approach for aid as well."

"Arl Eamon?" the elf asked. Surprised she knew of the Arl, Alistair looked over at her and nodded. "I met the Arl once or twice at the Palace." Adela was tapping a long finger on her lips, thinking. "How do you know him?"

The young man shrugged. "He raised me," then he quickly amended at the raised eyebrow of his elven friend, "well, from when I was a baby until around ten. Then off to the monastery for me!" he tried to chuckle, inject some humor, but he failed miserably and he noticed that Adela wasn't buying any of it anyway. He was actually rather pleased to see the distaste on her face at the mention of Eamon sending him away.

Another thought struck the young man. "Highever forces," he mumbled, frowning. "You know, Fergus Cousland arrived with the main bulk of Highever forces, but the Teryn never arrived with the balance. And, Arl Howe of Amaranthine never showed with his." He felt Adela's watchful eyes on him. "Perhaps…perhaps we should go to Highever, try and figure out why the Teryn and Arl did not arrive," he turned fully, facing the elf. "Perhaps they were delayed…maybe they are still on their way to Ostagar and will arrive only to find it in shambles." Recalling the map in the pouch Duncan had handed him, Alistair quickly pulled it free of the leather pouch. Adela sat straighter in the bed as the young man spread the sheet of parchment over the rumpled quilt.

Pointing one blunt finger at Highever, way to the north, Alistair traced a line down to the Wilds, many weeks travel, to the South. "The King's Highway makes the most sense for them to travel with such a contingent," the Warden was saying, tapping a finger at Highever, and then to where Ostagar lay. "If we travel along the highway, continue north, we will either meet them on their way here or…" he broke off, frowning. "Or we continue to Highever and find out why, exactly, they failed to appear." A thought struck him, one that would never had entered his mind had not he just witnessed Loghain's treachery. _What if Highever was in league with Gwaren_?

A glance to his friend told him that she had the same thought.

Well, there was nothing for it, he decided. They needed allies. And for more than just against the Blight. A tight feeling came to his stomach. He wasn't ready for this, he knew it. Yet, now he found himself as the senior Grey Warden in Fereldan, needing to take charge, and he just couldn't do it. _Lead_? He shook his head, taking a look at his fellow Warden.

Adela sat there, a thoughtful look on her face. She always seemed to be thinking. Then she was nodding. "It makes sense, Alistair," she said, turning her blue eyes upon him, capturing and holding his gaze. "Perhaps going to Highever first would make the most sense." he raised a brow at that. "Well, think on it. If they are heading here, they would be following the King's Highway. If we started visiting these other places - off the Highway - we may well miss the Highever troops altogether. Then where would they head? Most likely Denerim. And, if they are not in league with Loghain," he noted a catch in her voice at his name, "then they are either walking into a trap or may well fall for whatever lie he may tell. That," she pointed a finger at him to emphasize her words, "would make it very bad for us." She took a breath. "And, we need other troops, other aid. Not just in force of arms, but politics as well." She frowned. "Let's face it, if Loghain betrayed us all here, who knows what he's doing in Denerim?"

Nodding his head, Alistair could not help but agree. The journey would add weeks to their travel, but only if they had to travel all the way to Highever. But, as Adela said, they could not risk loosing a potential ally against not only the Blight but against Loghain as well. Alistair had heard tales of the famous Cousland family. They were honorable nobles, utterly devoted to Fereldan. The current Teryn and Teryna had each fought against the Orlesians during the rebellion, and had been faithful to King Maric, and stout allies of Cailan. Alistair even recalled Eamon once begrudgingly admitting that Teryn Bryce Cousland was a man of honor, devoted to the Theirin line, a fact further emphasize by the man's declination of the throne that had been offered to him upon Maric's death and his firm support for the former king's son.

There was no doubt in Alistair's mind that Highever was not allied with Loghain and the betrayal he had wrought. Okay. Determination found a safe place to rest in his heart. Highever would be their first stop. He frowned, looking down at his battered armor. Well, first stop would be a place they could restock.

DA:O

Two more days, and Adela was strong enough to dress (carefully, and with more than a little sadness placing the silver halla charm into the lining of her armor) and leave the hut. Morrigan's Mother (as they had taken to calling her as she had yet to tell them her name, despite being asked numerous times) seemed pleased at Adela's recovery.

The two Wardens shared their thoughts and decisions with the old woman, who, despite seeming to be more than bit on the nutty side, had extremely good insights. While Morrigan would scoff and taunt from the background, the two Wardens and mad old witch would discuss the route to Highever, and map out the routes to finding the other allies to whom the treaties obligated.

"And so now, I must bring an end to my hospitality, children," Morrigan's Mother chortled, grinning at the expressions upon both Wardens' faces. "But, I do have one parting gift to bestow." She rose, brushing off her skirts, and then turned to her daughter, who had stood back, watching. "Morrigan will be accompanying you."

The surprise that crossed Alistair and Adela's faces were nothing in comparison with that upon Morrigan's beautiful face.

"What?" the younger witch exclaimed, her posture instantly shifting from relaxed amusement to tense annoyance. "Mother, this…this is not what I wanted!"

"Oh, come now, girl," her mother scolded, completely ignoring the near fright in her daughter's voice. "You've been itching to leave the Wilds for years for more than a brief foray. Now's your chance," she chuckled, looking directly into her daughter's face. "Get out of the Wilds. See the world. End a Blight."

Casting a malevolent look at both Wardens as though this was their fault, the young witch shook her head defiantly. "No! I won't go."

Morrigan's Mother seemed only amused at her daughter's defiance, then reached out and delivered a sharp slap across her face. Startled, Morrigan raised a delicate hand to the growing red hand mark flowering on her cheek. Alistair and Adela stood in startled silence.

"You will go," her mother ordered, her voice lost the cheerful tone of lunacy and was replaced with firm command. "They need your help against this Blight, girl. They need magic. You know how to avoid the darkspawn in the Wilds, you can lead them to the nearby village." she took a step closer, allowing her daughter to see the menace in her eyes. "You will go."

Her hand still to her face, fighting back stinging tears, Morrigan nodded, and mumbled the need to gather her things. Adela was biting her lip, wanting to say something to ease the tension, but was startled as Morrigan's Mother turned to face them, her face once again resuming the cheerfulness of a loony witch.

Moments later, Morrigan was ready. After a brief discussion with Alistair who truly did not want the taciturn witch to journey with them, "We need allies, Alistair," Adela firmly reminded him, they agreed to take Morrigan along with them. Alistair and Adela thanked Morrigan's Mother for her help, and then followed a silent Morrigan from the clearing, with a heading out of the Wilds.


	12. Chapter 12

_I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. _

_As always, thank you all for the reviews, alerts & favorites. mutive, Windchime68, Arsinoe de Blassenville, phoenixandashes, harmakhis, voltagelisa. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum. And I'm loving the alerts/favs!_

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 12_

Bright sunshine greeted the trio as they made their way through, beyond the Wilds, Morrigan leading them unerringly, and safely through. The witch said nothing during their travel through the dark Wilds, and neither Alistair nor Adela was in any great need to speak with her. They figured that she was embarrassed by the treatment her mother gave her and they had no desire to bring that up.

They were accosted by a small group of bandits, posing as toll collectors just outside the village of Lothering. The first words Morrigan had spoken since leaving her mother's home had been that they just go ahead and kill the fools. And while Adela had been sorely tempted to (_how many poor refugees had they preyed upon_?) she sought instead to talk the men into leaving. Therefore, after talking the leader into giving her all the money they had collected (it amounted to over one hundred silvers), Adela suggested that they leave the area for good if they wished to live. Apparently, they did as the six men ran off with all haste.

Adela rubbed her eyes, trying to ignore the headache that loomed there, trying to focus on what they needed to do and ignore what she wanted to do. A strong desire to just run to Denerim and make certain that Loghain was there overwhelmed her. She needed to know why he quit the field, leaving Cailan, Duncan and the others to die. A thought that something had happened to him had bloomed in her mind and the young elf frowned, feeling more than a little guilty at her earlier quick condemnation of Loghain. She did not know the circumstances, and wanted all of the details before making any other rash judgments.

She brought her hand to her lips, remembering the kiss - harsh, frantic, needing - she had shared with Loghain prior to battle. She should have remembered the way he had spoken then, that he had planned on there being an _after _following the battle. She bit her lip, forcing the guilty feeling down, knowing it would do nothing to help now. They needed more information. She lifted her blond head. She hoped they would be able to find it in the tiny village of Lothering, upon whose outskirts they now stood.

Regardless of what had happened, the simple fact was that Cailan and Duncan were dead, as were all of the other Wardens and most of the armies gathered against the darkspawn incursion. She picked up the pouch that held the treaties, rubbing her thumb along the rough leather, holding it tightly in her hand. Could they really bring these folk together to fight against the darkspawn?

She knew some about the Dalish: her mother had given her instruction in the language, belief system and traditions. She knew precious little about mages and next to nothing about the dwarves. She glanced over at Alistair, sighing. Yet here they were, two junior wardens seeking to bring these three factions together against the Blight.

The trio entered the village of Lothering, and were astonished by what they saw there.

Refugees. _Everywhere_. It seemed as though every free space of land around the village and encroaching to the town's center was filled with tents, crates, livestock, and people. Children ran between tents and bedrolls, adults sat, dejectedly, amongst what few possessions they managed to gather in flight. The two Wardens exchanged concerned glances, and walked further into town.

As they passed the gate, a Templar in full armor uniform (_how could he stand standing in this sunshine with that heavy helm on his head?_) called for their attention, warning them that there was little room available in the town, and they would be better off seeking shelter elsewhere. Morrigan scowled at him, but Adela thanked him and walked further into the town.

"We should go to the Chantry," Alistair offered, his gaze going to the large, stone building smack in the town's center. Morrigan began to object.

"Morrigan," Adela turned to the witch, "how about you go and purchase some supplies while Alistair and I go into the Chantry and see if there is any news?" She handed the witch a small pouch containing some coin. "And, see if there's a merchant willing to purchase some equipment."

With a nod, the witch left in search of a merchant as the pair of Wardens turned toward the Chantry.

DA:O

Alistair cleared his throat. "You really need armor that covers…" he swept his hand up and down to encompass her form, "you." he finished weakly, flushing to his ears.

"Alistair," Adela began, but the other Warden cut her off. "You were nearly killed!" he whispered, trying to keep his voice calm. "That armor doesn't protect you…"

"Alistair," this time she placed a hand on his arm, looking in his eyes. "This armor is best suited for an archer." she grinned while pointing to her bow. "I'm an archer. I promise…" she squeezed his arm. "I will not go berserk into a hoard of darkspawn again."

Alistair was not swayed. She was under protected. He knew it. She needed armor that at least covered all of her. Had she been wearing something that offered protection she would not have been so gravely injured before. He was certain of it. However, he knew he was not going to win any arguments with her here, not now. His eyes rested on the hand she had on his arm, noting just how tiny her hand was - no larger than a human child's hand - how delicate the bone structure. With a sigh, he picked up her hand and held it tightly.

"Okay, okay," he conceded. "I'll not argue with you about it," he smiled at her, "for now."

Nodding, she returned his smile, and the pair of them walked into the Chantry.

DA:O

The Chant of Light echoed through the great vast outer chamber of the Chantry. Bookshelves lined the walls, and candelabras hung from the high ceiling. There were many folk in the building, some sitting talking quietly, some shaking with silent sobs, others kneeling in prayer. They walked passed children and old folk, and Adela felt a certain sad anger rise up.

"Why are they just sitting here?" she whispered to Alistair.

"Where else can they go?" he whispered back.

She frowned, deeply. "Anywhere is better than here, waiting for the darkspawn to take them." She looked up at the taller human. "They could flee to Denerim. Further north to Highever or Amaranthine. Anywhere but…" she swept her hand out, "just waiting here to die."

The human Warden gazed around them, and then nodded. "You're right," he acknowledged aloud.

The elf stared about her. This was crazy, she thought. Were they really going to just wait? Her blue eyes spied several Templar standing in the chamber's center. Making a decision, the elf strode forward, determination marking each step. Alistair hurried to keep up.

Adela stood quietly as the elder Templar gave instruction to the others. Noticing the elf standing there, he turned a small smile her way, and greeted her with a bow. "Greetings my lady," he said in a pleasant yet commanding voice. "I am Ser Bryant, head of the Templars stationed here in Lothering. How might I be of assistance?"

Adela returned the gesture, "My name is Adela and I am a Grey Warden," she narrowed her eyes at the Templar and watched as his eyes lit with attention, and then got right to the point. "Why is everyone just sitting around here?"

The Templar blinked. Once. Twice. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, finally finding his voice.

Adela stepped forward. "There are refugees clogging this place, sitting, just waiting to die," she accused. "Why are they remaining here instead of fleeing?"

The Templar sighed. "Flee to where, exactly?" he asked in a tone that suggested he thought this elf had overstepped her boundaries.

However, Adela knew that tone well enough, and chose to ignore it. "They could flee north to Denerim. Or continue on to Highever. Anywhere," she stepped forward pointing a finger into his breastplate. The Templar backed up a bit. "is better than standing around here waiting for the death that will be coming."

"Do you have any idea how much of an effort it would be to get people to just leave?" he demanded, apparently not liking Adela's tone of voice. However, she just shook her head, and scoffed at him. She was quickly loosing patience.

"Look," she peered up into his face, not backing down, not intimated in the least by his advantage in size. "The darkspawn have just decimated the forces at Ostagar. They are heading this way, out of the Wilds. These people will _die _if they do not leave. _You _need to organize the evacuation and get them to leave now."

The Templar stiffened at the commanding tone in her voice. "I have a duty to the Chantry and Revered Mother…"

"Who in turn has a duty to the Maker's children," Adela finished. "And that _duty _needs to include ensuring that they get the opportunity to live."

Ser Bryant frowned. "What you say is true," he conceded, "however, until the Revered Mother orders otherwise, we are merely here to secure the area and keep peace to the best of our ability."

The Templar then frowned. "You say you are a Grey Warden?" both of them nodded in reply. "You are aware that the Grey Wardens have been declared traitors to Fereldan and a bounty placed upon the heads of any found?"

Blue and amber eyes widened in disbelief. "Who…" Adela cleared her suddenly dry throat. "Who issued that declaration?" Fear gripped her.

"Ser Cauthrien, the Commander of Maric's Shield issued the order on behalf of Teryn Loghain," came the reply.

_Ah, yes_, she thought, _I know Cauthrien_. Adela felt as though she as going to faint, or vomit or both as a lightheaded feeling washed over her, making her joints feel suddenly so very weak and unstable. Ser Bryant's words resounded in her mind. She took a deep, steadying breath. He had said Ser Cauthrien had issued the orders on Loghain's behalf.

She took a steadying breath, fully aware of both men's eyes upon her. "You will not speak of our arrival here," she said in a small, but steady voice.

Ser Bryant nodded, saying, "I do not believe that the Wardens betrayed our king and country," his voice was assured, "and so I shall say nothing." He frowned, gazing about the chambers. "You are correct, however. I shall speak with the Revered Mother about evacuating these people. Remaining in the hoard's path is not a wise decision." With that, he bowed, crossing his arms before his chest, and left to seek out the Revered Mother in the vestry.

The vast building seemed suddenly closed in, and there was a roaring in her ears as her vision tunneled in on itself. Alistair moved closer, putting an arm across her shoulders, pulling her against his steady body. She heard him whisper something assuring, but she could not quite make it out. She lifted her face to his and saw that lopsided grin of his. Swallowing, she smiled back, resting her head against his chest, she fought against the tears that threatened.

And allowed Alistair to guide her out of the chantry.

They found Morrigan arguing with a merchant who had set up his cart not far from the Chantry's entryway. A Chantry sister had joined in the argument. Rolling her eyes, certain Morrigan was somehow to blame, the elven Warden moved from Alistair's side and walked over.

Apparently, the merchant was using the good timing of the darkspawn hoard to increase his monetary gain. The Chantry sister had been trying to get him to lower his prices so that the villagers could afford the goods they needed. Morrigan was just trying to purchase some flasks and reagents. Adela, having no patience for the unscrupulous behavior of the merchant, suggested that he lower the prices or she would help the Templars confiscate his wares. That earned an appreciative smile from the Sister, a scowl but acquiescence from the merchant, a bemused grin from Alistair, and a surprised look from Morrigan, who happily finished making her purchases.

There were a few jobs offered up on the Chantry board and, although Adela was convinced that the jobs would be moot if Ser Bryant actually did carry through with plans to evacuate the village, Alistair insisted they do them. To earn coin, he had said; to make the evacuation easier and safer, he alleged. He just kept at it so, eventually Adela told him that they would.

The jobs were far easier done than she had expected: remove a bandit threat, locate the body of a missing woman, and clear out some rabid bears. Easy. Therefore, they went back to the Chanter who gave them sovereigns for their trouble and a very nice sword.

Alistair tested the balance of Oathkeeper, balancing it in a loose grip in his hand, then tightening his grip and moving through several feinting motions with it. He could feel the slight humming of magical energy that emanated from the rune covered blade. He tried to offer it to Adela, who grinned at him and pointed out that the sword was far too large and heavy for her to just carry, let alone wield. Sheepishly, the human sheathed the fine blade.

By this time, the villagers who had been sitting about despondently were now hustling, gathering their belongings, forming organized groups. Several Templars were shouting orders and moving among the refugees. Alistair nudged Adela's shoulder. "Guess they just needed a pesky little elf to push them in the right direction, eh?"

She looked up into his grinning face and could not help but smile back. She shrugged, turning to leave, when she spied a small family of elves standing out of the way, their meager belongings behind them. Curious, Adela stepped away from her human companions and approached the small family.

The father introduced himself as Gaylen, his wife Amery and their daughter Siobhan. They had been members of a nearby farm hold that escaped from the darkspawn and made their way to Lothering. While en route the elven family had been divested of their belongings by the same bandit's the trio originally encountered. When advised that they had chased off the bandits, Gaylen smiled and nodded his appreciation.

"So, are you going to evacuate with the rest of the village?" Adela asked. Gaylen nodded his head. "I had wanted to leave sooner, however, being low on funds, we were unable to purchase the supplies necessary, and this delayed us indefinitely."

The young elf pulled the small pouch of coin she had appropriated from the bandit leader. "Here," she said, thrusting it into his hands, "take this pouch. It has at least a hundred silver." she waved off the expression of confused gratitude. "Go to the Alienage in Denerim and seek out Cyrion Tabris. He's my father. Tell him that Adela sent you and he will make certain that you and your family is taken care of." She smiled at the man who, along with his wife, was trying hard to voice their appreciation. She clasped Gaylen's arm. "Just survive and tell my father…" she paused. "Just, just tell him I'm fine and I love him."

Gaylen and Amery nodded, and then pulled their daughter along behind them to go and purchase the supplies they would need for the journey north to Denerim.

When the small family left, Alistair pulled Adela to the side. "Was that wise?" he asked, glancing at the family. "Loghain may hear you live…that there are Wardens that survived."

"And what, Alistair?" Adela snapped. "By the time any word got to him, we'll be long gone from this place. This place," she swept out an arm to encompass the village entirely, "will be long gone." She shook her head. "It's just…" she looked up, an almost defeated look in her eyes. "I need my family to know I'm alright. I want to make sure they know that whatever rumors are going around about the Wardens that they are not true."

Caught up in her eyes, Alistair found his own argument weak. Nodding, he took her arm, and the three left the village center.

They bypassed the inn, knowing that there would be no room for them there. They decided to leave the village and travel northward along the highway until dark. However, they did not make their way through the edges of the town without incident. On their way out, the sounds of chanting rang from a cage hanging nearby, in which stood a bronze-skinned giant of the Qunari who called himself the Sten. Alistair mentioned that the Qunari were warriors without equal. Adela asked the giant his crime. Murder. She frowned; then asked if the giant sought atonement for his crimes. The giant gave the elf a long, leveling stare, and then pronounced that he would assist the Grey Wardens against the Blight. Adela returned the giant's steady gaze and then picked the brittle lock of the cage. The giant stepped out, looming over the small elf, as he gave his oath of loyalty.

As they neared the highway, a red haired Chantry sister with a strong Orlesian accent hailed them. Adela's history with Loghain and her own mother made her eyes narrow with suspicion of anything or anyone Orlesian, but Alistair yet again declared that she might well be a welcome addition.

"But, Alistair," Adela pulled her fellow Warden aside at the pronouncement from the sister that the Maker sent her to them, that she had a vision and just knew they would be there, "she's one Archdemon shy of a Blight!"

To which Alistair chuckled, "Yes, but she seems more…'Ooh, pretty colors!' than 'Muahaha! I am Princess Stabbity! Stab, kill, kill!'"

The elven Warden gave her friend a long, searching stare. Alistair met it, his eyes warm with humor. Throwing her arms up in defeat, she declared the Sister, Leliana, welcome to travel with them.

It was when the Chantry Sister gave a high-pitched shriek of joy that Adela seriously had to wonder if she had made the right call. Alistair seemed happy, as he engaged the chatty human woman in a lively discussion about screaming bloody murder in the monastery to see if anyone was paying attention. Staring at the backs of the two humans, Adela shook her head. She glanced back at Morrigan, who merely rolled her eyes at the elf as she passed by her. Adela mimicked the expression and followed, the Sten following behind her.

DA:O

Loghain paced his chambers, forcing down the very real concern and fear that threatened to spill out in a shout of anger and despair. _How did he get back to Denerim_? He wondered, a frown deepening the lines and furrows that mapped his face. His last clear and lucid memory had been kissing Adela at Ostagar and telling her that they were talk after the battle. Only, there had not been an _after the battle_! To the Teryn's knowledge, that had not been a battle at all. Only hushed voices, muted sounds, dark shapes and then _nothingness_. Nothingness until he awoke that morning in his Denerim chambers, sans King, Wardens, a victory, and _Adela_.

Heavy lids closed over pale blue eyes. He remembered how it felt to hold Adela and kiss her. He had frightened the girl, and himself, too. For years, he had watched her grow form a shy, quiet child into a thoughtful and talented young woman. _And now she was a Grey Warden._ That thought chilled him.

His scowl deepened further. Just moments before, Cauthrien and Rendon Howe were telling him that he was about to be declared Anora's regent? How could that be possible?

His head ached - terribly so - and he found himself battling against nausea. He raised a blunt fingered hand to his head, rubbing at the temples, trying to pull his clouded and confused thoughts together. His meal sat untouched upon the table to his right. Scowling, knowing that it would not clear his thoughts but needing the drink regardless, he grabbed the goblet of wine and, in one gulp, drained it.

DA:O

Smooth, white hands pressed down the near non-existent wrinkles along the fine silk of her black gown. Anora glanced up, her hands before her, wringing, trying hard to maintain a calm she did not feel. All she wanted to do was hide in her chambers - the chambers she had shared with Cailan. Hide and cry.

However, she would not be afforded that luxury. The luxury to mourn her beloved husband in private.

She knew something was _wrong _when her father had returned from Ostagar, his contingent and Maric's Shield in full force, without her husband, without any other survivors. There had been the chance that either her husband or father would not return from battle. She had thought she would be prepared for either outcome. However, her father had returned with stories that the Grey Wardens had betrayed Cailan, who in his bid for glory had allowed himself to be placed right on the front lines, had died from their betrayal and his own foolishness. That Loghain had seen the treachery too late, and had only managed to pull his own troops out of the battle before they, too, could be decimated.

Her hands twitched at the black cloth of her mourning gown.

No. She had grown up with her father telling her tales of how untrustworthy the Grey Wardens were. She had also grown up with tales of how Maric had allowed the order to return to Fereldan's shores.

She had listened as Cailan would go on and on about battles and Blights and how the Grey Wardens were the only ones standing between a Blight and total annihilation. Yes, the awe in his voice was reminiscent of a child's awe of a tale of the knight in silver armor slaying a fearsome dragon. However, mixed in with that awe and hero worship was knowledge. Cailan had read nearly every treatise, volume, tome and scroll available regarding the Grey Wardens.

He had committed to memory every strategic detail of each of the battles that Grey Wardens had been involved.

He knew, without doubt, that whenever a Blight had been defeated it was _always _by the blade of a Grey Warden.

Cailan just knew, without knowing the details that the secretive order would never let out, that Grey Wardens were essential to stopping Blights.

Therefore, because of her husband's knowledge and insistence, despite having grown up hearing otherwise, Anora knew that never had a Blight been stopped without the Grey Wardens. Nor was it possible that one would ever be stopped without a Grey Warden.

Anora frowned at the door. And now her father tells her that the Grey Wardens of Fereldan had betrayed King and Country…but never the 'why' or 'how'.

Why would the Wardens betray Cailan? They were not an order that involved themselves in political or personal power. Dying alongside Cailan would certainly not grant them either in any case.

How could they betray him? By giving him up to what…the darkspawn? That went entirely against their creed and code, their very goal and only reason for existing - to stop the darkspawn and stand against a Blight.

No. None of it made sense.

And, coupled with Cailan and Anora's ongoing concern with Loghain's behavior of late, this only added to her conviction that something was most definitely not right.

The Queen smoothed her hands once more down the front of her gown. She would stand by her father's side as he addressed the nobles, arls, banns and other political powers as he declared himself her regent. Anora tried to steady her trembling hands. She did not need her father to act as her regent. She and Cailan had been legally married, bound by the Chantry, and they had ruled jointly. She could assume the throne immediately, with just the approval of a majority of the nobles.

However, Anora did not currently feel strong enough to act against her father. She stopped, frowning. When did she feel that she would be acting against her father by assuming the role that was hers by right, law and tradition?

No, indeed. Something was not right.

A door behind her opened, and her father walked in, flanked, as always these days, by Ser Cauthrien and Arl Howe. No, not Arl any longer. She refrained from frowning again. _Teryn _Howe. The arl's sudden rise to Teryn also caused the woman to be concerned. More news of betrayal, and a quick act, moving without approval from the Throne, and one of the most loyal and ancient noble families in all of Fereldan - a family older than the Theirin line itself - was eliminated. Again, against a backdrop of baseless rumor and innuendo, put forth by Howe himself that they sought to act against Fereldan by allying themselves with Orlais. Finding her disgust for the man difficult to hide, Anora turned her head, bowing it as though in an expression of grief.

The act was not so difficult, as it was truth. Her heart ached, and she wished desperately for her husband.

She felt her father's presence by her side; saw how the other two flanked him. She raised her brilliant violet eyes to stare into Loghain's pale blue orbs. There was a veil of shared grief there, but something else. Something that Anora was unable to identify. She shivered at the alien…presence behind that gaze.

"Come, Anora," her father bade, gently taking her elbow in one hand, guiding her through the door that had remained closed. "We must advise the nobles awaiting us of their obligations to the Throne."

Nodding, unable to find her voice to speak, Anora allowed herself to be led out of the chamber, to the balcony that would overlook the chamber where the Landsmeet normally would be held. She shivered as Teryn Howe moved closer to her, a hand almost errantly brushing against her arm. She glanced up into his face, and knew fear. The look the man gave her was purely predatory. Moreover, Anora knew that none of those currently with her were her allies.

It was like a door shutting on her heart as she heard the heavy doors close behind her.

DA:O

_She was helpless, bound hand and foot, naked, and unable to move. The sky above was blackened, with roiling thunderclouds and streaks of lightening. Small dragons swooped above, roaring out their fires, the sounds of battle complete with the shrieking screams of the dying, surrounded her. And then he's standing above her, taking in every curve and plane of her. She tries to curl in on herself, but he merely laughs, roughly yanking her around onto her back. Then he lowers himself down and onto her, as the dragons continue to ravage the field, his green eyes boring into hers…_

Adela sat up suddenly, a scream upon her lips, covered in cold sweat and shivering. She felt someone's strong arms wrap around her, a familiar soothing voice seeking to calm her. She struggled against the hold upon her, screaming out _his _name, seeing only _his _eyes, a hand reaching down to pull one of her daggers. That voice is telling her to relax, and another voice accompanies his - a sweet, female voice with a thick accent - and gentle hands brush the hair from her face, telling her to open her eyes. Her hand closed upon the hilt of her dagger, but she felt one of those gentle hands encircle her wrist, keeping her from unsheathing the weapon.

_Open your eyes_! That voice pleads.

With a gasp, her eyes snap open. Breathing hard, she turned her head. Alistair had his arms locked tightly about her, his eyes filled with concern and just a bit of fear. The woman's voice - Leliana - was talking in soothing tones, not saying anything just shushing her as one would an infant. Adela forced her body to relax, taking deep shuddering breaths. Leliana released her hold on Adela's wrist and sat back, concern shining in her bright blue eyes.

"I'm alright," the elf whispered, trying hard to stem the trembles coursing through her body. "Alistair, you can let me go," she met his eyes, tried to convey with a look that she is all right despite the tremors racing through her body. Her fellow Warden did not look as though he believed her and, although he maintained a hold on her, his grip relaxed.

Leliana asked Adela if she would like a cup of tea. The elf nodded, and the Orlesian woman stood and walked to the fire pit, hanging a kettle of water over the fire.

"Bad dream?" Alistair asked in a quiet voice, his amber eyes watching the elf closely. Adela nods. "Nightmare is more like it," she whispers back.

Alistair nods sagely. "Do you get nightmares often?" he asked.

Adela shook her head, "No, actually. Although given what has happened over the past few weeks," she shrugs her shoulders, "they happen more often than ever."

"You will find your nightmares occurring on a more…regular basis," Alistair said glumly, watching as Leliana poured hot water from the kettle into a cup.

"A Warden thing?" Adela asked as the Orlesian handed the cup to her. With a smile, the human woman walked away from the pair, seeking her own bedroll.

Alistair raised his head, noticing that Adela's tremors were subsiding. "It's our…connection to the darkspawn," he whispered, "and the Archdemon. We can," he shrugs, "hear them. And it affects our sleep."

Frowning into her cup, Adela asked, "Are there any other secrets that I should know about?"

Sighing, Alistair glanced around the camp. Leliana was trying to go back to sleep, and the Sten was standing, keeping watch. He noticed Morrigan, away from everyone else, watching the pair with interest. He turned his gaze upwards. There were many stars out that night, and it was still quite late. Adela had not gotten much sleep, and he could tell from the circles under her eyes that she was exhausted. He released his hold and stood, offering a hand to her.

"Come on," he said as he took her hand and helped her to her feet. "We're going to discuss Grey Warden secrets and can't have anyone not part of the club overhearing." He offered up his most charming lopsided grin, and was pleased Adela responded with a weak smile of her own.

Alistair led his fellow Warden away from the others, keeping the campsite in sight, but far enough away that no one would overhear. With a grin, he gallantly brushed away dirt, leaves from a large rock, and invited Adela to take a seat. Once she was seated, he sat down beside her.

"Alright, let's see…first thing you know is about the nightmares," he stared into her eyes, "some Wardens are affected by them their whole lives, others get, I don't know, used to them. I hear that the dreams are worse for those who join during a Blight."

"Oh, wonderful," came the snide reply as Adela rubbed at her eyes.

"Another thing is that you won't have to worry about the dreams for too long," the elf lifted her head. "The taint…it's a death sentence. We've an average of thirty years to live after the joining."

He watched the emotion that skittered across the young elf's face - betrayal, anger - and he felt a moment of pity. After all, Adela was very young. And elves, even those born in the city - tended to live longer natural lives than humans did.

"Any more secrets?" the elf managed to grate between her teeth. _Yup_, Alistair thought, _she's angry_.

The young man shrugged his shoulders, pushing down his irritation at the elf. _You have your own secrets_, he thought bitterly. "Well…you will notice an increase in appetite." he grinned at that. The girl still ate like a bird, in his opinion. "The taint does something to our metabolism and we tend to use up energy quicker than normal. So, we need to refuel often." Adela nodded. "We can sense the darkspawn, although I believe you already knew that." Again, the elf nodded in the affirmative, her eyes turned away from her friend. "And, well," he ran a hand over his hair. "I know there are other secrets, although to tell the truth I don't know them." He held up a hand defensively. "I hadn't been a Warden much longer than you, and Duncan told me that I'd learn all there was to know over a year's time."

A mosquito buzzed by Adela's ear and she swiped it away irritably. "So, there are even more secrets out there." she hung her head, reaching into her tunic and pulling out the silver halla charm. Alistair watched as she turned the charm over in her hands.

"That's," he gestured to the charm, "very pretty." he watched her hands stop moving. "May I?"

She paused, then gently placed it into his hands. Alistair turned it over, marveling at the detail of the creature. It reminded him of a deer, but with long curving horns, and a tail more like a horse than a deer. The face also seemed more intelligent, wiser than a deer. "What is it?" he asked, awed by the fine detail of the item.

Adela smiled, taking it from his hands, running her fingers over it lovingly. "It's a halla." she looked up. "The Dalish and the halla have a…symbiotic relationship. The halla guide the Dalish on their journeys and pull the aravels, and the Dalish take care of them."

"Aravels?"

"Land ships," Adela clarified, her hand closing around the charm, bowing her head. "Something like wagons, but Aravels are the homes of the Dalish."

Alistair nodded, letting the ensuing silence settled in for a few moments.

"Adela?" she raised her head to look at Alistair. "Do you feel like talking?"

She shrugged. "How do you feel?" she asked him, turning it around. He appeared surprised. "I mean," she frowned, her eyes going back to the charm. "About Duncan. I know he was important to you, probably even a father figure…"

"You don't need to," Alistair replied, putting a hand over both of hers. "I know you didn't know him long."

She smiled, shrugging up one shoulder. "I knew him long enough to know he was a good man who had to make tough decisions. One who knew his duty and did what he could to follow it while still maintaining his humanity." She looked into Alistair's eyes, and the young man once again found himself lost in their depths.

"He…he was very important to me," he admitted. Okay…"What about you?" Adela tilted her head. "I know you…Cailan was important to you…" he felt the heat of a blush rise on his face. _Great, great_…

A frown marred her features. "What do you mean?"

"I…well, I mean…" Alistair stammered, not sure what exactly he meant. _Were you the king's lover_? That was what he really wanted to know, but could not just come right out and ask.

Her face darkened somewhat. "Are you implying that I was…the king's…?" Alistair noticed she stammered, anger heavy in her voice.

"I…I just meant…" and Adela rounded on him.

"What? An elf could only be a human man's whore?" she snarled out, leaping from her perch.

"No!" Alistair reached over and grabbed her hands. "I'm sorry, Adela. It's just…" he frowned. "I know of Cailan's reputation…"

She freed a hand and raised it, delivering a resounding slap across Alistair's face. He stood there, stunned. Angrily, the elf said, "Those are all lies!" she hissed. "You don't…didn't know Cailan and anyone who would spread such vicious lies certainly didn't know him." she was shaking with anger, fear, and grief. Alistair stood there, staring down at the tiny elf.

"Cailan loved Anora, and she loved him!" she declared, jabbing a finger in Alistair's chest. "And I was fortunate to be his friend." he noticed she tightened her grip on the halla charm. "I've known Cailan since I was a child. Just as I've known Loghain…" she stopped, tears running freely down her face, her eyes glued to the charm in her hand. "I've known Loghain since I was a child," she said in shuddering whispered tones, tears falling upon her hands, upon the charm. "Loghain would never…"

Confused, Alistair stepped forward, covering both her hands with one of his, the other on her shoulder. "Adela," he whispered. "I am sorry." she raised her tear-filled eyes to his. "I am sorry about Cailan, about…coming to the wrong conclusion." he smiled weakly. "You're right. I didn't know him. Not as well as I would have liked to, anyway," he flushed a bit, glancing down at his feet. "And I guess knowing you knew him, and having heard the rumors, and seeing how pretty you are…" he shook his head. "I was wrong, and I apologize."

Adela nodded, her eyes going back to the charm.

"But, Adela, Loghain did betray us," he persisted. "He left the field, and let Cailan and Duncan, all the wardens and all those soldiers to die!"

Adela shook her head, her eyes snapping up, no longer filled only with sorrow, but tinged with anger as well. "We don't know that!" she grated out. "Cailan was his son in law, his daughter's husband, I…"

His grip on her tightening, he gave her a shake. "He left the field, Adela!" _Why won't she listen_? "We lit the beacon in time, the signal was given. His troops should have entered the battle as planned and slaughtered the darkspawn and prevented Cailan and Duncan from dying!"

"Something must have happened!" Adela persisted, yanking herself out of his grip, glaring up at him.

To his own horror, he pushed the smaller elf back, causing her to stumble. "He was a coward or a power hungry fiend," he hissed in her startled face. "Either way, he deserted us all - left _you _- to die!"

"He wouldn't…" came the weak whisper, the elf's eyes falling back to her hands. Alistair dropped his gaze to her hands as well. The significance of the charm she held became clear to him. Anger, sorrow, jealousy - all fought for dominance of the man's emotions. Maybe it wasn't Cailan who had been her lover after all.

He just stared at the downtrodden woman, watching as she took shuddering breaths. Guilt overtook him. He couldn't blame her for her feelings, he realized. She had known both the king and Loghain far longer than he had Duncan. And being presented with the possibility that someone she cared for had betrayed them all? Alistair stepped forward, and felt a small twinge of pain as his friend took a small step back, away from him.

"I'm sorry, Adela," the young man whispered, taking another step. She did not move away this time, and allowed him to put his arms around her and pull her against him in a hug. Sobbing, still clutching the charm Loghain had given her, the elf buried her face in Alistair's chest.

In the darkness of the woods, with a blanket of stars twinkling above, the young Warden stood with his arms around his elven friend, his cheek upon her bowed head, his own tears leaking from his eyes and sliding down across his nose and cheekbone, as his own sorrow overtook him.


	13. Chapter 13

_I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. _

_This chapter is more for fluff as they travel along the Highway to Highever. It can't be all deadly serious all of the time, right? Hmmm…well….And, strange as it may seem, this chapter has given me a lot of grief. Please let me know what you think._

_As always, thank you all for the reviews, alerts & favorites. mutive, Windchime68, Arsinoe de Blassenville, celtic-twinkle, voltagelisa. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum. And I'm loving the alerts/favs!_

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 13_

The small party had traveled fully a week outside of Lothering, heading northward toward Highever. They had encountered small roving bands of darkspawn that had somehow become separated from the hoard to the south. During one such encounter, they were assisted with the teeth and muscle of a mabari war hound.

After the last darkspawn fell, the dog approached, it's brindle coat covered with blood, dirt and small wounds, some healing over indicating they were older, others new from the recent battle. Adela spotted the beast, watching it carefully.

"I'd be careful," Alistair whispered, taking her arm to prevent her from approaching the hound. "He could be rabid or infected."

Patting Alistair's hand and carefully removing her arm from his grasp, she stepped forward a bit, her eyes firmly on the hound, who in its turn watched her carefully. Maintaining eye contact, the elf hunkered down, crouching several feet from the beast, while still maintaining eye contact. The great beast, easily as large as the small elf, most likely outweighing her by several stone, gave out a great sigh, and then dropped to the ground, rolling over and showing her his belly. With a smile, still moving carefully, Adela rose to her feet, walked over to the hound and rubbed his belly. His tongue lolling happily, the hound accepted the attention gratefully.

Alistair stepped over to the pair, amazement in his eyes. "How did you know to do that?" he asked, watching the elf pat the dog, which had now rolled over onto his stomach to accept scratches at his ears.

The elf bit her lip, a small frown on her face. Well, he did ask…"Loghain had a war hound when I was a child," she glanced up quickly. Seeing Alistair's face darken slightly, she looked back to the hound. "He made certain that I knew how to handle myself around the hounds."

The human Warden didn't say another word at that moment. Leliana cooed at the "big puppy" while the Sten acknowledged the war hound a fine addition to their party.

A derisive laugh from Morrigan, who asked, "Now we have another mangy beast following us around?" at Adela's questioning stare, the witch gestured toward Alistair, "At least the beast smells better than the Templar."

Alistair sputtered at the witch, and Adela remarked, "Leave him alone, Morrigan." The elf rose, and the war hound leaned against her, almost knocking her from her feet. She gave a gentle nudge back with her knee. "So," Alistair moved to her side, staring down at the huge war dog, "what are you going to name him?"

Her bottom lip was being mauled by her teeth. "Can't I just call him 'Dog'?"

Alistair was horrified. "No, no, no…you can't!" he knelt down to the dog's level. "He needs a name!" the senior junior Warden declared.

"Oh!" Leliana jumped into the conversation, "I know a name….'Aveline'."

"It's a boy dog, Leliana," Adela advised, grinning down at the beast.

"How about 'Rover'?" Alistair offered, and then seeing the look upon Adela's face, quickly amended, "Okay, how about not!"

Tapping a finger against her chin, Adela shook her head, "Naming a mabari is very important." She grinned up at the two waiting humans. "I'll need to think about it."

Leliana grinned, Alistair's mouth dropped open. "He's going to be nameless until you come up with a name?"

Adela nodded. "Yes. I'll not have names like 'Rover' or 'Rex' or 'Dan' being tossed about just so that we can call him something other than 'Come Here'." She reached over and petted the dog's ears fondly. "He needs a name that suits his personality, and we've only just met." She looked up, smiling into Alistair's face. It was the first real smile she'd given him with since the night outside of Lothering, and Alistair felt grateful she had forgiven him his outburst. So, he returned her smile and agreed that they'd get to know the pooch before naming the pooch.

The Sten merely grunted, seeming to think that the whole conversation pointless. Judging by Morrigan's sneer, she agreed.

DA:O

That night they camped out along the side of the highway. Leliana particularly was nagging about naming the war hound.

"How about Shartan?" she offered. Adela shook her head. "I don't know; naming a dog after one of our greatest heroes?" She shrugged, leaning back over a piece of wood she was examining.

"Garahel," Alistair offered. Adela gave him a questioning look, and Alistair replied, "He's the Grey Warden who stopped the last Blight." He stirred the pot of gray stew he was cooking. "He was elven."

Again the elf shook her head. "Nope." she reached over and petted 'The Dog'. "Still seems a little…unflattering to name a dog after the few elven heroes we have." She brought the wood up, checking over the grain and texture. Then grinned over at them mischievously, "How about 'Maric'?"

"Argh!" Was Leliana's response; Alistair just assumed a serious look, shaking his head. She laughed at them.

"Don't worry," she calmly said, returning to her inspection. "The right name will come to me."

DA:O

Two nights later, they found a suitable campsite beside a deep pond. The women in particular were very pleased with the opportunity to bathe. The men…not quite as thrilled with the prospect, the dog even less so.

After a cold bath, her hair drying about her shoulders and down her back, curling and forming a halo about her beautiful face, Adela sat on the ground, her back against a log, her legs curled under her as she worked her carving tool along the length of a piece of wood.

"Ooooo…what is that?" came the Orlesian accented question. Adela looked up from the piece of wood she was carving into the likeness of the Vhenadahl tree, with its thick, ancient trunk, and out stretched limbs, heavy with a thick, broad leaf.

Adela smiled at Leliana, "This is the Vhenadahl, The Tree of the People. Every Alienage has one. It is the center of the Alienage and stands witness to important events." She handed the unfinished work to the human, her smile widening at the awe and appreciation that shone so clearly on the expressive face. "Weddings, births, deaths - these are all celebrated before the Vhenadahl. And, in so doing," she took the piece back and resumed carving away those pieces that did not belong, "those who lived in the Alienage are always remembered. They become the roots and help to strengthen the community."

"Oh," Leliana breathed, watching Adela's dexterous fingers working the rough wood, shaping it into the beautiful tree. "What a lovely tradition."

Dropping the wood he had gathered for the fire, and tossing a few logs onto the existing flames, Alistair quipped, "What's a lovely tradition?"

Leliana grinned at the man, gesturing grandly toward the elf sitting before the fire. "The Vhenadahl. Oh! It's so romantic! Perhaps I should write a poem - oh! No! A song. About the tradition of the elven people to perform important ceremonies before the gnarled and ancient roots of the Vhenadahl, to ensure that every life passed within the Alienage lives on long after they pass!" Clapping her hands merrily, the red head rushed off to her tent, seeking writing supplies.

"Well, that got her in a tizzy, now, didn't it?" the young man joked as he sat beside the elven Warden. Adela glanced up briefly to bestow a bright smile upon him, and then turned her concentration back to her work. She had decided she was going to make time during quiet moments to devote to her art. Alistair sat and watched her quietly for many moments, neither noticing that the Sten had moved over from his post at watch to take note of the artwork the elf was creating. Morrigan was no where to be found.

"Sooo…." Alistair began, "you have a hobby carving stuff."

Adela arched one blond brow in a quick quirky movement, "Hardly a hobby," she told him, turning her eyes back to the wood. "My father is a renowned artist in Denerim. The nobles and other notables commission works from him all of the time. We've even received orders from as far away as Val Royeaux. I was his apprentice until about two years ago, and then I graduated to artisan myself." She lifted her eyes to smile at Alistair. "I'm not a warrior, Alistair. I'm an artist. I work in different mediums: porous," she grinned at his frown, "that's ivory, wood, some stones," she turned back to the wood, "I even work clay and I paint, usually in oils, but I have used watercolors before. Although sculpting is where most of my talent lies."

The Sten, watching and listening, nodded his head, "And so why are you no longer plying your craft as you should?" the huge Qunari asked, never taking his eyes from the woods surrounding them. "Why are you playing at being a warrior?"

Adela put the carving down, her thumb flicking at the blade of her carving tool. She noticed Alistair starting at her intently, and while she felt somewhat comfortable in discussing some of the circumstances with Alistair, she had not reached a comfort level with the giant, on any level, to share any part of her tale. So, she replied, "An abrupt change in circumstances occurred, Sten." She looked up at the huge warrior, meeting and holding his eyes. "And, I am still an artist. And this is hardly 'playing'. I have just taken a…side journey."

The Sten turned his eyes to stare at the elf briefly. Then, seemingly satisfied with whatever he saw, he gave her one quick nod, and then stepped away to resume his patrol of the perimeter.

Alistair watched him with some amusement. "Glad he's on our side," he paused a thoughtful look crossing his handsome face, "I think." He turned back to Adela, who had resumed her carving. He watched her fingers work in unison with the carving tool, feeling along the surface, quickly nicking any piece that didn't belong, cutting into the wood with a thumbnail to create texture. He was almost mesmerized by the flowing and supple movements of her fingers.

"Do you want to talk about how you became a warden?" the young man asked when Adela lifted her eyes to his in question.

"I thought Wardens didn't have a past?" she quipped, smirking at her friend.

"Yeah, well," Alistair grimaced, reaching over and tugging at an errant lock of blonde hair before tucking it behind a delicate ear. "I've never quite bought into the whole 'Grey Wardens don't have a past' deal." He shrugged. "Pasts - the good, bad and ugly - help make a person who he or she is." He smiled. "But, if you don't want to tell me…"

The elf looked down at the half-finished tree in her hands. "It's not a matter of not wanting to tell you, Alistair," she looked up, staring at the sky. The stars were coming out, "It's just…difficult." She sighed. "I haven't spoken to anyone about it." She flicked the blade of her tool again. "Duncan didn't even really know what happened, although I've always thought he suspected."

They sat there quietly, the crackle of the fire blending in with the sounds of crickets chirping their last before autumn came in full. "Adela," Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder. "Look, I know this past month has been rough on you," he smiled gently, watching as she bit her lower lip. "Just know that I am your friend. You are my sister Warden, and if you ever feel able to talk about it, I'm here." He released her, and she nodded her thanks.

Adela went back to work on her carving, and Alistair rose to gather more fire wood.

DA:O

Adela finished her carving the following evening. She stood up, stretching, moving and shrugging her shoulders to loosen them. She knew she should not have sat there the entire time, but once she got the picture of the tree in her head, and the wood working in her hands, she found she could not put it down. She smiled at the sight of Leliana sitting across the fire, her eyes switching from the paper she was writing on and the Vhenadahl, the tip of the quill between her teeth as she got lost in thought and prose. Reaching down, the elf picked up her carving and walked over to the Orlesian, holding the piece of wood out to her. Leliana's eyes widened in appreciation as she took the gift, gazing at it with loving eyes.

"This is absolutely beautiful," she breathed, turning it reverently in her hands. "Truly you are a master craftswoman," she praised the elf, unaware that the younger woman had been praised by royalty and national heroes for her talent. "It is a magnificent gift," the red head smiled, tucking it close to her chest.

"An artist always appreciates those who appreciate her work," Adela said, bowing slightly. Leliana grinned up at her, chattering away about the song she was working on.

A short while later, the Sten bade a good evening to the ladies, and went over to Alistair's tent, calling out for the Warden to take up second watch. The giant turned away as a string of cheerful grumpiness streamed from the tent. A few moments later, and Alistair, his hair not quite as tidy as normal, dressed in a tunic and britches, tumbled out of the enclosure, seeking 'relief' just beyond the trees.

Adela tapped Leliana on the shoulder, suggesting that the woman get some rest. With an appreciative smile, thanking the elf once more for the carving, the Orlesian crept to her tent and retired for the evening. As she watched the woman enter her tent, Adela had to admit to herself that perhaps not all Orlesians were the evil incarnate both her mother and Loghain said they were. Leliana was definitely as nice (_no, nicer_) than many Fereldans the elf had met.

Although it was not her watch, Adela found she was not tired. She knew very well the fruitlessness of even trying to sleep if her body wasn't up to it. So, she pulled up the pouch that contained the treaties, pulling the parchments free of their confines. The folded piece with her name written on it fell out.

Frowning, for the elf did not recall seeing this before, she picked it up, immediately recognizing Duncan's handwriting. _Why is there a letter for me and not Alistair_? She wondered briefly, breaking the seal and pulling the parchment open. Another square, this one with Alistair's name on it, fell out. Nodding with a smile (_of course_), she picked that off the ground, holding it in her palm until her fellow Warden reappeared.

She began to read the letter written in Duncan's neat, flowing hand:

_My Dear Adela_

_Well, little lady, I first must congratulate you on passing the joining. As you no doubt are now aware, the joining must remain secret. If the conditions of the ritual were ever to leak out, few, if any, would choose to become Grey Wardens. I tell you this as a means of apology for keeping so many secrets from you during our journey together. You are very much like your mother, honest almost to a fault, and I had learned quite early on that you valued honesty above all else. And, for that, I must apologize for integrating you into an order that survives upon secrecy._

_It is with the assumption that I may not survive that I put ink to parchment to you. The upcoming battle will be difficult, but if all of our planning comes to fruition, it is very possible this note would be moot. Even if that is the case, and I should survive, the words herein contained are still very much true._

_Many believe that to be a Grey Warden one must be a warrior without peer. The truth is, the Wardens are made of many different types of folk, all dedicated to the duty of ridding Thedas of the darkspawn, and putting a stop to Blights. To do so, we must be ready to employ any means necessary. While warriors who can wield shield and sword - such as our Alistair - are the front line of our ongoing war, those who possess more subtle talents, such as yourself, are highly sought after for our ranks. Someone who can read people, who can interact well with them; One who can feel compassion and empathy for those who suffer, and can fully and truly understand the consequences of one's actions - these are few and far between, and I count myself fortunate the day I was able to garner you for our ranks._

_To be honest, although I was highly impressed with your escape from the Arl's estate, I had every intention of recruiting you when first we met solely based upon observations I had made prior to our very first meeting (and I am thinking of your encounter with Lord Vaughan when he first attempted mischief with you) and based upon our initial conversation, when you had stood up to me, bravely, seeking a way to forestall any violence. And, if it's not too heartless to say, I had intended to recruit your betrothed. Nelaros displayed great heart and courage, and would have made a most excellent Grey Warden_.

Glancing down at the wedding ring she still wore, Adela smiled at that, thinking of the elven man who was to have been her husband.

_That said, I want you to know that, should I survive the battle, I plan on grooming you as my replacement. _

Adela gasped here, then continued reading_. _

_You recall Artan? The overly large, loud fellow who greeted us upon arrival at Ostagar? He is my second, but truthfully has neither desire nor aptitude to lead. He and I both agree that you have the talents needed to do so, although Artan did suggest fattening you up a bit as he believes you are rather scrawny (I apologize, little lady, his words, not mine). Once you take over as Commander of the Grey here in Fereldan, Artan most likely would remain as your second until his Calling. _

Calling? She needed to ask Alistair about that.

_Then, it would be your duty to choose one who would serve along side you as your second. Alistair most likely would be a good choice. Do not let the boy fool you; his sense of humor and seeming inability to lead is merely a shield he had erected about himself. He is far more capable then he lets on. Truly, a more loyal, capable man you could not find._

_I know you must be surprised and perhaps a little overwhelmed by this, Adela. However, I have the utmost faith in you. Do not think that this has anything to do with you being Adaia's daughter. As stated above, this decision is based upon my observations of you at and since leaving the Alienage. You purported yourself well, even though I am certain you suffered at the hands of Lord Vaughan. Do not worry, I will not try to pry from you what happened. I do feel you need to confide in someone though, my dear, as even those of strong will and character, such as yourself, find that they cannot always carry their own burdens alone._

_In case I do not survive the battle, you should be aware that the Grey Wardens have a safe house in Denerim. There is a warehouse located in the area of the Wonders of Thedas, a magic shop supported by the Circle. At the end of this letter is the combination for opening the cache room. This is a secret to all but the Warden Commander and his Second. There are not even any records of this safe house in our headquarters at the palace. I realize that putting this information in written form may prove disastrous; however, I felt the risk necessary in order to make certain that you are able to access the vault if in time of need._

_You will also find information in our Denerim headquarters that will assist you in your adjustment to the life of a Warden and should answer many of the questions I am certain you have._

_If I fall, do not hesitate to seek out Artan, and any of the surviving senior Wardens to assist you. They are aware of my intentions with regards to your training._

_Enclosed is a note for Alistair. Please be certain the boy receives it. _

_And one final thing, little lady. You really should stop biting that bottom lip._

_Faithfully yours,_

_Your friend,_

_Duncan_

_Warden Commander of the Grey, Fereldan_

Adela stared at the letter in her hand for several moments, blinking against the prickling sensation of tears, and then quickly re-read it to make certain she understood it correctly. Duncan really thought to prepare _her _to take over command of the Grey Wardens? She shook her head. That can't be right. Surely even Duncan could make a mistake. She frowned. She knew _nothing _of leading people.

The log she sat upon shifted with the added weight of the large human man taking a seat. Without a word, Adela handed Alistair his letter while her blue eyes scanned over hers for a third time. With a quick look to his friend, Alistair broke the seal and read the letter from Duncan. He then refolded it, placing it inside his tunic, his face soft and thoughtful.

And sat there watching Adela as she tried to absorb what Duncan said in his missive.

It was with a profound sigh that Adela finally put the letter down, having absorbed all she could from it. She still could not believe it, but there it was, in black and white, clearly in Duncan's hand (the tone of the letter was the way the man spoke, even the use of his moniker for her). She looked up and saw that Alistair was watching her closely.

"Didn't you have one these?" she asked him, waving her parchment in the air.

Alistair nodded, "Yes," he looked down at his hands "I…I just need more time and perhaps a re-read," he grinned, "or three before it sinks in."

"One of those, huh?" she frowned at her letter. "Mine, too." Then, with barely a second thought, she handed Duncan's letter over to Alistair. He looked at her carefully, his hand outstretched. At her nod, he took the parchment, reading the letter carefully.

The elf watched, a red-gold brow twitched here, a slight quirk of a lip corner there. He doesn't quite frown, but neither did that lip quirk offer up to a smile either. _Perhaps he felt that he should have been considered by Duncan instead of her?_ She felt a moment of distress at that thought. _What if he resented her for Duncan's decision_?

She is pleasantly surprised when Alistair chuckled and replied, "Well, then, _Commander_," he grinned widely, "better you than me!"

And she groaned, "No! Don't call me _that_!" She assumed a whining tone that almost - _almost _- sounded like Alistair's own. The other Warden, far from being insulted, laughed harder. He handed the letter back, clearly amused by this turn of events.

She looked at him through the corner of her eye as she tucked the letter back into her satchel. "Yes, well, you as _my _second," she grinned wider as his eyes widen. "Need to be prepared in case you ever have to take command."

Holding his hands up, waving them about, he pleaded, "No, no, no, no! I don't lead! I can't lead," his voice dropped lower, taking on a more pathetic whine. "Bad, bad things happen when I lead. People die! We all get lost! And, I am leading without any pants!"

She bit her lip, trying to stem a peel of laughter, but failed miserably. There they were, the last two Wardens in all of Fereldan, falling over laughing at the very thought of Alistair leading them all through the mired wilderness, sans pants.

DA:O

The next day it rained. Not a dreadful downpour, but a steady drizzle that, at times, was worse than a steady rain. Adela walked up front, Alistair at one side, The Dog on the other. The human Warden glanced over at the mabari, feeling sorry for the beast's still unnamed state. He opened his mouth to bring it to Adela's attention - _again _- and then shut it. He had been harping on it for over a week now, and the elf would just smile at him and tell him she was still thinking. _Thinking_? It seemed like that's all she did. And while she thought trying to figure out the perfect name for the beast, the poor guy had to settle for prompts of 'Come Here' or being called 'The Dog'. Really, how humiliating for one of the noble breed?

And so Alistair settled for huffing, and that drew Adela's eye. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the frown that turned the corners of her lovely mouth down, noticed that her bluest of blue eyes narrowed slightly. She glanced over at the beast dutifully trotting along at her side, his tongue lolling out as he happily matched her pace. Alistair sighed again, and Adela's eyes went back to his face.

"Okay, Alistair," the elf muttered, maintaining the pace. "Out with it."

Feeling a bit cheeky, Alistair asked, "Is that a command, _Commander_?"

Adela huffed back at him. "You know, I could institute latrine building duty in which _you _would be the sole contributor."

"What?" his eyes widened. "And have me hog all the fun?" He tsked at her. "No, no. I'm certain Sten or even Morrigan would love to be able to share in the fun." He grinned at her smirk. "Ah, yes, latrine duty. Always fun."

She gave a great sigh, shaking her head, obviously choosing to ignore his comments and plod along.

Grinning openly at her, Alistair skillfully ignored the sneering "Fool" that came from Morrigan and the foreign "Pashara" from the Qunari. His grin widened at Leliana's giggle.

They continued this way for quite some time, until finally Adela just stopped. Alistair stopped as well and turned to look at his fellow Warden (she'd kill him if he _thought _Commander!). She gave him a 'look' that made him both a little fearful but also weak at the knees. The Sten, Morrigan and Leliana had stopped, watching with interest as the elf turned to the war hound.

"Since big old Alistair won't shut up about it," she was saying to the dog as she gripped his ears, staring into his eyes, "I guess I'm going to have to give you your name now rather than wait until we're at camp tonight." she shot Alistair another one of those looks, and he found himself grinning at her like an idiot. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the dog. "Your name is Hafter." She released the dog, who barked happily at her. Taking that as acceptance, she turned and continued walking along, Hafter prancing by her side. Frowning, Alistair followed, the other three, after sharing a shrug, followed.

"Wait!" Alistair hurried to her side, glancing backward. "That's it? No ceremony? No long story about the significance of the name?" He looked over at the hound. "Hafter?" the human Warden paused, trying to recall a history lesson from his days at the Chantry. "Isn't that the name of some Dane's son?"

Adela shrugged. "I don't know about that," she replied. "However, I remember King Maric telling me about how he had gone to the Deep Roads, accompanied by Warden Commander Genevieve and several of her wardens. One of those wardens was named Kell and he was her second or some such." She smiled. "He had a mabari named Hafter. So, now my mabari's name is Hafter."

Glancing at the mabari, Alistair asked, "How long ago did you pick that name?"

"Ooohhh…a few days ago," was the elf's smug reply.

A few…"And you let the poor doggy go without a name that long?" he whined.

Adela grinned wider. "I'd let him go longer, but I was getting tired of listening to you whine and pout about the 'poor puppy' not having a name."

Aha! "Soooo…." Alistair's voice took on a smooth quality and he sidled up beside the pretty elf. "All I have to do it whine and pout?"

Sputtering, both eyebrows rising up, the elf flushed a deep pink (which Alistair found very fetching). "Don't even think of trying it," the elf growled out that warning, keeping her eyes straight ahead on the road.

"Hmmmm…" the taller Warden hummed, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Huffing up at him, the elven Warden increased her pace, ducking her head so that her insufferable fellow Warden would not see the small grin that touched her lips.

DA:O

Alistair is nervous, sweating under his tunic. Adela is leaning over a rock, the map spread out as she traced the route from Ostagar to Highever. Her finger moved back down to the spot where they believe they are. The human warden moved to her side, leaned over, trying to not think about it at the moment.

"I'm thinking we've another full day's march to Highever," the elven Warden stated, glancing up to Alistair to gauge his thoughts. She's obviously pleased as he nodded in agreement.

With a sigh, she rolls up the map. "Well, I'll be glad when we finally get there." She tucked the map into the satchel she used for the treaties. "I just hope our reception will be on the positive side."

Alistair merely nodded, again, not saying anything. A small frown formed between her brows, the elf tossed a few logs on the fire, enjoying the snapping sound the crispy bark made upon ignition.

"We may even be able to restock in Highever," she continues, watching Alistair as he stared into the flames.

"Uh huh," was his response.

"Maybe I'll buy myself another suit of armor," she stated as she stepped to his side,

"Sounds good," he said absentmindedly.

"Maybe get that dress for you so that you can dance the Remigold for the Teryn," she joked, grinning as Alistair merely nodded.

"So, what color? I think green would look splendid on you," she tried not to laugh, especially when Leliana giggled behind them.

"That would be fine," the man responds, then frowns, looking up. "Wait? What?"

Adela and Leliana burst out laughing, while the Sten merely grunted and Morrigan snickered.

"I didn't think you were paying attention," the elf teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," he apologized, offering a grin. "Mind's somewhere else, I suppose."

"Ah," Morrigan put in, "of course, one would find it necessary to assume you had a mind to be 'somewhere else' to begin with."

"Morrigan…"

"But, truly, Adela, he makes it so easy," the witch continued.

"Morrigan."

"Oh, have it your way," she huffed, turning back to her work of brewing potions.

Smiling, shaking her head, she turned back to Alistair. "Hey," she touched his arm, "do you want to talk?"

He looked up, and then did a quick survey of the camp. "Ah, actually, I would. But," he looks back at her, "can we talk privately?"

A blond brow twitched. "More Warden secrets?" she asked.

Shaking his head, Alistair responded, "No, no. I just want to talk privately. You know," he gestured around. "Without the peanut gallery listening in."

Leliana gasped indignantly at that. _Point proven_, Alistair thought. Adela smiled, rolling her eyes, and nodded. Taking her arm, Alistair led her away from the campsite.

The forest floor was wet from the rainfall that had been falling the past couple of days, and it was quite dark. The light from the camp fire helped them navigate a far distance from the others, although Alistair wished for some moonlight to help light the area.

They stopped, and Adela found a stump to sit on, ignoring the dampness. Alistair watched her and grinned as her feet hung about a foot off the ground and she swung her legs. He fidgeted, and then pulled out from his side pouch the object he wanted to give her.

"Here, look at this," he handed a delicate red rose to her. "Do you know what it is?"

She quirked a brow up, one corner of her mouth following in a slight grin (_her face was so expressive_) "Your new weapon of choice?"

He laughed, "Yes, that's right! Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements! Feel my thorns, darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent!" and he took a deep breath through his nose, smiling broadly at her.

Adela grinned down at the rose in her hand, raising it to her nose. "You've been thumbing this awhile, haven't you?" she looked up into his warm eyes.

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. _Why nervous now_? He berated himself. _She has the rose._ "Actually, I picked it in Lothering." He stepped in front of her, looking down at the smaller elf. "I saw it there and thought that it was such a beautiful thing, flourishing in these dire times." He reached out and gently touched the side of Adela's face. "It rather reminded me of you."

"Of me?" she asked, glancing down at the flower. "How?"

Leaves crackled as he moved, kneeling down onto the wet ground so that he and she were eye to eye. "Just as I said," he remarked very quietly. "Something so beautiful flourishing in the most dire of times."

He smiled softly as he watched the blush rise up her neck, to her cheeks and to the very tips of her ears. How he longed to touch those ears.

"Alistair…" she began, softly, her eyes lowering to the flower.

"I…I know that you may not feel quite the same way about me as I do you," he acknowledged a bit sadly, "and I don't know everything about you as perhaps I should." she looked up at that. "But, I do know how I feel about the _you _that I do know. And I hope that…well, someday you may begin to feel it, too, for me." he looked at her with such hope in his eyes. He watched as she swallowed nervously, her body language betraying a certain level of discomfort. He moved back a bit, to allow her room, to let her know that he was not going to do anything that she did not permit.

She was biting her lower lip - _again_. A clear sign she was nervous or anxious about something. _Or thinking very strongly about something_. Her eyes darted from the rose, to the side and then to Alistair's face.

"Alistair," she started again. She took a deep breath, obviously trying to gather strength for what she was going to say next. _Please don't tell me you're in love with Loghain, please don't,_ he silently begged her. _I think I already know that but couldn't bear to hear it from your lips. _

What she did say surprised him. "You had once asked me about the circumstances that surrounded Duncan conscripting me for the Wardens," her voice was so small, scared. He could only nod, fearing what she may say.

She took a shuddering breath, and told him about her wedding day, about Vaughan coming to the Alienage, about his kidnapping her and the other women from her wedding party. Tears fell from her eyes as she told him about Vaughan's attack upon her, leading to her rape and Alistair took her hands and held them tightly, feeling her grip upon his hands tighten. She looked up but not into his eyes, but a bit off and over his shoulder as she recounted finding her cousin, battered and assaulted; of how her betrothed, Nelaros had perished during the rescue attempt. She took another breath, and explained how, upon returning to the Alienage she had taken full responsibility, thinking that it would spare the others in her home trouble for the massacre that occurred in the Arl's palace. And when done, she sat there, shuddering with sobs, grasping the rose in her hands, unable to look at her friend who sat there for just a moment, stunned.

And he knew what he needed to do. Without a word, he put his arms around the elf, and just held her, letting her cry upon his shoulder, or talk when the need came upon her to do so. How long they sat like that, Alistair didn't know. He decided that he could just kneel there, like this, holding her, his knees upon the wet ground, for however long she needed.

And Alistair knew that, even if she never returned his feelings, her telling him of this occurrence that had forever changed the course of her life she trusted him, and valued him, probably more so than just about anyone else in his entire life had ever done.

He had never before felt this way in his entire life. And he thanked the Maker, yet again, for this wonderful woman. Whether she be friend or lover, it didn't matter. So long as she was a part of his life and he hers, he would forever be happy.


	14. Chapter 14

_I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. _

_This chapter would have had more, but then it would have been too long, so I'm splitting it into two chapters. I hope the ending on this one makes sense. It's bugging me._

_As always, thank you all for the reviews. mutive, Windchime68, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Gaspode. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum! And the alerts and favs - always a great boost!_

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 14_

Teryn Howe surveyed the room, a cruel, viper smile spreading across his face. There stood the throne, it's heavy wood elaborately curved, gilded in gold. Empty.

_Of course empty_, he thought with a harsh chuckle slipping from between his thin lips. He stepped forward, almost reverently, running a hand along one of the gilded armrests. Loghain lay above in his chambers in a stupor, watched over carefully by Cauthrien. Howe frowned. Lately Loghain had to be restrained more than before, somehow managing to fight against the darkness that was overwhelming him. The latest news, that Wardens had actually survived Ostagar, had set him off and he had been extremely difficult to control. _Thank the Maker for Arawn_, he thought.

Anora was locked in her chambers to keep her from mischief. The Teryn's eyes narrowed. The Queen was proving to be as much a handful as her father, and just as uncooperative. His smile acquired a leering quality as his thoughts turned toward the lovely woman. Once he was certain of his power base, he would have to…break the young woman of that most unfortunate quality.

_Soon_, he thought, resisting the temptation to sit upon the majestic fixture.

There was the sound of a throat clearing behind him, and Howe turned carefully, his narrowed eyes meeting those that looked at him from across the room. The elf's eyes, tawny in color, reflected a hint of amusement as he watched the human step down from the dais and walk over to him.

"The Antivan Crows send their regards," the elf spoke in a smooth, heavily accented voice, bending into a graceful bow.

"I trust all is prepared?" Howe questioned the elf as he moved to stand before him, looking down at the smaller elf as he straightened.

This elf, however, would not be intimidated by this or any other human. An assassin by trade, a member of the highly sought after and elite Antivan Crows, he knew that there were others far more capable for him to fear. This Fereldan nobleman would have to do more than just look at him from a greater height to instill trepidation.

The elf bowed yet again, a slight smirk gracing his handsome, tanned features, "All is in the ready, my lord," he replied, rising. "The Crows merely await your word to proceed."

Howe nodded. "Very good." He gestured the elf away, "Just make certain that the Wardens die."

Chuckling, the elf bowed again, then turned and left the room. This time, Howe walked up to the throne, turned, and slowly lowered himself to the padded seat. _Very soon._

DA:O

Leliana frowned as she stood beside Adela and Alistair, staring up toward Castle Highever. Something was wrong. She knew it. All of her experience screamed it at her. A glance to the Wardens told her that they, too, felt something was amiss.

"Adela and I should scout around the castle," Leliana offered as the trio stepped back off the road and into the forest. "Circumnavigate the immediate area around the castle, and return here to report what we find."

The elf nodded her agreement, and after a moment, Alistair did as well. Then, moving as quietly as shadows, the two women melted into the shadows, and vanished from sight.

Leliana circled around the western boundaries of the castle while Adela took off on the eastern side. The Orlesian was amazed by the grace and ability the artisan displayed. She had seen the elf in battle against darkspawn, and she admitted to a bit of jealousy by how well Adela handled the bow. _Almost like she was born with it in her hands_, the red head thought. But, she did offer to teach the younger woman a thing or two about using her daggers. While she was good, she did not have the same confidence with hand to hand combat as she did with her archery.

But, her stealth skills…Leliana was absolutely impressed. And could not help but wonder where the craftswoman, one who befriends royalty and nobles alike, would learn such skills.

She paused, listening. Now mid-autumn, there were no chirping crickets or frogs in the background. There was, however, a near constant drizzle from the gray skies, which were now darkening toward nightfall. Of course, they were on the coast now, and rain was a near constant occurrence. She sighed, sniffing. Maybe it was due to the constant rains that Fereldan always seemed to smell of wet dog.

There, she was certain, was a noise to her right. Carefully and quietly unsheathing a dagger, the Orlesian carefully stepped closer to the castle, pressing her back against the cold, wet stone, blending in perfectly to the shadows. A guard passed within feet of her position, not taking any notice of her. Although she was not particularly familiar with the various coat of arms of Fereldan nobility, she was aware that the livery of the guard was not that of the Cousland family. She had had the pleasure of meeting the Teryn and his son at Court in Val Royeaux several years ago, and had been impressed with the simple green on black, large tear drop crossed with spears heraldry of the Teyrnir of Highever worn by the accompanying knights, while the family crest - a laurel leaf set upon a background of blue - had been worn proudly by Teryn Bryce Cousland and his handsome son. This coat of arms - a large bear standing before a white and gold shield - was one she did not recognize.

Frowning, the bard stepped away from the castle, and made her way back to the rendezvous point.

Adela arrived a few minutes after Leliana and, together with Alistair, the women went back to where the Sten and Morrigan stood waiting.

"I do not believe that it is the family Cousland who holds these lands any longer," the Orlesian reported, a small frown on her pretty face. Adela nodded her agreement.

"No, but I do recognize the heraldry of the guards around the battlements," the elf replied. Leliana tried not to let her surprise show. How would an elf know the heraldry when she, an Orlesian bard, did not? "That is the coat of arms for the Arl of Amaranthine," the elf continued, a deep frown on her face.

"I take it you've met the Arl?" Leliana inquired.

To which the elf nodded. "Oh, yes," a concerned look crossed her features as she tipped her head to look back toward the castle. The first time she had met Arl Howe had been shortly after a Landsmeet about a year ago, and she was waiting for Anora in the great entry way. The Arl had apparently thought she was a servant and had taken to treating her as such. He had not taken kindly to Loghain's telling him that Adela was an honored quest and close friend to the king and queen. The second time she had met him, he had made it clear what he thought of her being a _'friend' _and so had propositioned her to _'visiting' _him at his estate in Denerim. While she had been spared having to speak with him further on that subject (Anora had entered the room with the ever watchful Loghain), she could never shake the uneasy feeling she had gotten from the man. And, now to find his troops patrolling Highever's walls…. "I've had the displeasure." She stated simply, ignoring the looks her companions gave her.

"So, it would seem our journey here was a waste of time," the Sten put in, the tone of his voice betraying the irritation he felt. "Come. We must waste no more time."

"What?" Adela turned to the huge man, staring at him. "If you truly expect that we are going to just leave without finding out what happened, you are sadly mistaken."

Alistair joined the conversation. "Look," both elf and Qunari turned his way. "Duncan told me that the king had been expecting both the Highever forces and troops from Amaranthine to participate in the battle. That they did not arrive was confusing to everyone. Now we get here and find that it appears as though Arl Howe has taken over Highever." He shook his head. "Something is very wrong here and we need to find out what it is."

The Sten stepped forward, making a cutting motion in the air with one huge hand. "Pashaara!" he cursed. "What bearing does whatever happened here have with the darkspawn?" his lavender eyes narrowed as he tried to intimidate the smaller man. "You say you are a Grey Warden, prove it!"

Alistair blinked, but did not give ground. "I _am _a Grey Warden," he all but growled out. "And as part of that duty, Adela and I _must _find out what happened to the forces that had been _promised _to stop the darkspawn." The young man actually took a step forward, closer to the Sten. "You can help or you can leave."

The Sten stood, staring at the young human before him for many moments. Then, with a nod, he stepped back, awaiting further instruction.

Leliana blew out the breath she had been holding, convinced the two men would come to blows. She turned to Adela and watched as she chewed on her lower lip.

_She gives away too much with that face_, the bard thought. _I'll have to teach her to conceal her emotions better._

"Alistair is correct," the elf stated after a few moments. "We need to find out what is going on. As Alistair said, we know that Cailan, Loghain and Duncan had been counting upon the forces of Highever and Amaranthine to assist in the battle at Ostagar." She tapped a finger on her chin. Leliana resisted the urge to pull it away from her face. "That Arl Howe's troops are here…well, I have to think that there's nothing good about that." Her hand moved from her face, and she looked back up at the castle's battlements. "We need answers, and I believe we will only find them within those walls."

Leliana nodded. "If he took over the Teyrnir, he would have needed the permission of the Throne to make it official and legal," she smiled as elven and human eyes turned her way. The Sten merely stood stoically keeping watchful eyes upon the surrounding wilderness, and Morrigan sat upon a nearby log, seeming to not be paying attention. "If this was a coup, then most likely he did so without permission, and it is not a legal take over. The Crown may well step in and confiscate the lands, and censure the Arl. Although, with Cailan dead, it would be Howe's word against, whose?" She waved her hand in front of her face. "All too complicated and unnecessary a discussion at this time," she conceded with an embarrassed giggle. She had let her thoughts run away with her mouth, she realized.

But Adela seemed to be following along. "So we need to see if there are any Cousland survivors here," she speculated, "in case this was a coup."

The bard nodded.

"Okay, then," Adela grinned, "I guess we are infiltrating a castle." She looked pointedly at the Orlesian. "Any ideas on how we do that?"

Grinning from ear to ear, recalling a hidden passage she found during her scouting of the area, Leliana gave a most enthusiastic nod.

"Good then," the elf got all serious and businesslike, turning her eyes to the quiet Qunari and witch. "Sten, Morrigan, you two will need to participate." They both looked at her, and both heads nodded, a slight feral gleam in Morrigan's eyes.

DA:O

To say he was impressed was an understatement. How the Orlesian could have found the hidden entrance into the castle was simply a feat beyond him. The outline of the stone doorway perfectly blended into the rest of the stonework of the foundation, and opened at only the slightest touch in just the right spot. Had he not known otherwise, he would almost swear that magic was employed in its construction and activation. However, due to his templar abilities, he did not sense any magic and so knew it to be simply a genius of architecture.

The group entered the cellars of the ancient fortress, carefully closing the door behind them. It was dark and damp with disuse, a heavy earthy smell permeating the tunnel. Morrigan had called forth a spell wisp and by its light the band made their way through the uneven and winding tunnel system.

The tunnel ended at a wooden wall. Leliana moved forward, using her sensitive fingers to explore the wall, searching for the seems of the doorway she knew was there, trying to locate the triggering mechanism. She smiled broadly; it was similar to the exterior door. Finding the corner, she gave a most gentle push, and with a soft 'click' the outline of the doorway was revealed with the soft natural light filtering through from the room beyond.

Raising a finger of silence to her fellows, the bard pushed open the door way just a fraction, while the warriors behind her held their weapons at the ready, and Morrigan gathered the necessary mana to toss a spell at any foes that lay beyond. Adela stepped back, pulled her bow off her shoulder, and prepared to fire should it be necessary to use deadly force.

The tunnel opened into a pantry. The group moved in, ignoring the dark reddish brown stains upon the stone floor. Leliana and Adela moved to the larder's sole door. Adela moved into the corner diagonal from the door, an arrow notched, ready for flight. Alistair moved to the wall toward the door's opening, while the Sten stood slightly to Leliana's side. Morrigan and Hafter standing toward the small room's center.

Leliana nodded, and then opened the door a crack. She breathed out a slight sigh of relief, and opened it further, revealing a cold kitchen. The fire was out, and the group could not help but notice more of the stains on the floor.

Leliana shut the door, and the others relaxed their stances. Alistair went over to the dark stain on the pantry floor.

"Well, I think this is an indication something bad happened," he muttered as the bard and elf moved to his side. Adela's eyes roamed the pantry and Alistair followed along, noting the hanging sides of beef, potatoes and other food stuffs that lined the shelves or hung from the ceiling. All of the food were spoiled and molding, a clear indication that this kitchen and pantry had not seen use in some time. Alistair was not too surprised; a castle this size would usually support two or three kitchens and pantries.

"So, now that we're in, how do we get around?" Alistair asked, knowing that while their Orlesian minstrel and elven Warden could just slink into the shadows, trying to sneak a seven foot tall Qunari warrior and heavily armored Templar may not be the easiest thing to do. He watched as Adela's eyes settled upon some clothing hanging near the door from hooks.

She turned to him, a small smile on her lips, and then moved to the clothing. Poking through them, she obviously found what she was looking for and carefully pulled it from the hook. Examining it as she approached the group, she held it up.

"Okay," she shook the dress out, "I can put this on and pretend to be one of the servants," Alistair was shaking his head as she spoke, but Leliana obviously thought it was a good idea by the nod of her head.

"No," Alistair said firmly, grasping hold of the garment, "no way are you going to walk around here unarmed."

"Listen, Alistair," Adela spoke, pulling his hand free of the dress. "I go out in the open, scout around and see what I can learn. Leliana," she waved a hand toward the Orlesian, "can scout from the shadows, get into places an elven servant may not be able to. You big bad warriors and mages," she grinned at the others, "wait either in this pantry or in the tunnel until one of us reports back with a better idea of what we'll be facing here."

It was a sound plan, Alistair had to admit. At this point, it was clearly all they could do. It did not make sense having them all traipsing about the castle blind. And, he had to admit Adela could take care of herself. "Okay," he nodded, glancing at the Sten and Morrigan, both of whom had remained silent. "But, I don't like you being unarmed."

"I won't be," Adela promised, and then turned her back to remove her armor. "Ahm, Sten, Alistair?" both men gave her their full attention, "Please turn around. Lady undressing here." The Sten merely scowled but turned around, Alistair waggled his eyebrows at her, earning him a sharp look. Grinning, he turned his back to her as well.

He heard the sounds of armor being dropped to the floor, Adela muttering slightly under her breath, and then, "Okay, I'm decent," from behind. Both men turned around to find the elf, dressed in a simple woolen dress of brown and white, twisting her long braid into a coil at the base of her neck. Leliana handed her several pins and then tucked the elf's armor into her pack. Alistair was surprised to notice that the dress fit her rather well, although he noticed it was a bit large around the bust and waist, and a few inches longer than normal. _Maker, she is tiny even for an elf_! Came the unbidden realization.

"Ah, Adela," Alistair called. She lifted her eyes to his. "You are not going out unarmed, right?" To which she grinned. Lifting her skirts just a bit, she bent down and pulled a knife from one boot, and then switched hands and pulled out another. Although not completely satisfied (those were awfully small knives) Alistair knew that there was no further arguing about the plan. Adela handed her pack and bow to Alistair, and then moved with Leliana to the door.

Both women watched as their companions slipped back into the tunnel, and then they moved out the door, Leliana slipping into the shadows, and Adela stepping openly through the door, leaving it open so that the rogue could slip to and from the kitchen unnoticed.

DA:O

She had to admit, she enjoyed walking around without wearing armor - even the Dalish armor, which was lighter and move flexible than other armor. She almost missed the sensation of wearing a dress and made a firm mental note to purchase one and wear it whenever possible - at camp, at an inn (_an inn! To sleep in a real bed_! _And a hot bath!_)…she shook her head, focusing on the task at hand.

Walking the wide corridors of the castle, Adela was pleased that she hadn't been accosted by any of the residents. However, that also caused her a bit of concern. Normally, in a castle of this size, she should have run into other servants or denizens. That she hadn't spoke volumes, and she worried now that perhaps an elven servant walking the corridors would raise suspicion. _Nothing for it now_, she thought, deciding to continue on.

She did take note of more dark stains upon the floors and walls of the corridors she traversed, as well as the obvious damage done to the structure of the castle. Fresh burn marks and crumbling and missing stone gave quiet witness to the violence that the castle had obviously seen - and quite recently. Turning down a side corridor, she found a guard post where the door had been broken and bashed off its hinges. Frowning, she stepped into the small room, glancing around. More of the disturbing stains. She turned, spying another door, this one bound in metal. She stepped over and noticed that there had been attempts to batter the door down, but these had failed. Running sensitive fingers along the surface, down to the floor, she found that it was trapped as well. Removing one of the pins from her hair, the elf went to work on disabling the trap. She then went to work on the complicated locking system.

After several minutes, time wasted as she paused in her work to listen for any oncoming footsteps, the elf finally managed to get the door unlocked. She grinned, thanking Soris for all those hours he spent teaching his cousin how to open nearly any lock she encountered. Of course, she would never attain the level of skill her tricky cousin had…with that thought, she stood, once again checking the door for traps (there were none) and then pushed the door open.

Gleaming armor, shields and weapons hung from mannequins and various weapon racks. Feeling badly about being there, the elf backed from the room, relocking the door, and then leaving the guard room. She made a mental note to revisit the room with Alistair (they were in need of better armor and weapons, she told herself, trying to justify the decision to loot the armory) - after they discovered what happened to the castle's residents.

Leaving the room, she turned to her right instead of retracing her steps to her left. Turning a short corner, she arrived at a door. Bending down, she noted that it was unlocked. Cautiously she opened it, revealing a flight of stone stairs leading down into darkness.

Glancing about, her eyes settled on a nearby torch the hung from a wall sconce. Reaching up, using a hand on the wall as a way to make her way further up the walls (_darn humans and their darn long legs!_) she gripped it and pulled it free. Checking her pocket for flint and steel, she stepped through the door, closing it behind her.

The stairs nearest the top of the flight were dimly lit, and her elven eyes - sharper than a human's - allowed her to see quite a way down the stairs. She was a creature of light, however, and decided to light the torch now. The torch flared to life, and Adela found herself staring down a long, winding flight of stone stairs. Although in good repair, several steps were crumbling with age. Congratulating herself for lighting the torch, the elf made her way down into the bowels of the castle.

The earthy smell that had existed in the tunnel the elf and her group had entered the castle through gave way to a more decayed odor in the flue of the stairway. The stairs ended at another door, this one locked and bound in metal, although not as securely as the door to the armory above. After a quick check for traps (there were none) she deftly picked the old iron lock. After putting an ear to the door and hearing nothing, she carefully pulled the door open.

And fell back as the stench of rot and decay, blood and death assaulted her senses. Reeling, gagging from the odor, the elf brought a sleeved arm to her face, eyes blinking against tears. _Maker_! She thought, forcing bile back down her throat, _it smells worse than darkspawn!_ Lifting her skirts, she carefully tore a length from the underskirt and wrapped it over her nose and mouth. It filtered some of the stench to a more durable odor. Thinking she was prepared, she ducked her head to take a breath, and then walked through the door.

This is a dungeon, she realized, although pleased to note the absence of torture devices every tale says are found in such places. Instead, there were cells, many cells. All with heavy doors and small barred windows. Walking carefully and slowly, she looked into each cell in the small chamber and found them to be (thankfully) empty. She turned a corner to enter into the larger chamber of the dungeons.

She was not prepared for what she saw.

Bodies. Scores of them, stacked into piles along the walls. Most of them are divested of clothing, in various stages of decay. Some appeared to have been burned, and others…she turned away, retching. Some of the bodies there were children. She rushed over to a wall, leaning against the stone, as a sob escaped her lips. Children? She realized that these poor souls must have been the inhabitants of the castle. She forced herself to look back at the gruesome display.

The bodies were just piled up, with no regard to the humanity that they once represented. Elves and humans alike shared in this atrocity, and Adela felt a rage build within her at how evil people can be. Her eyes skimmed along, trying not to take in too much detail when she spied a smaller pile, consisting of four bodies, set by one of the cells. These bodies were stripped completely of clothing. Next is the body of a human woman, amazingly left alone for the most part, as is the little one beside her. It is for the other two bodies, a man and woman, that she felt tears rise up for. They have been horribly mangled, obvious signs of torture, even at this stage of decay. She turned away, unable and unwilling to tally the numerous atrocities done to them.

She needed to leave, now that she knew what happened here. She needed to just leave these poor souls and get out and find her companions…she turned, but then she heard a soft sob. She turned back. The sound was coming from the direction of the smaller pile of bodies. A rat scurried through, and she nearly jumped. Damned thing! Once again she turned to leave, but this time the sound is unmistakably human. Purposefully ignoring the death about her, she stepped to the cell she was certain the sound came from, and pressed an ear against the wood of the door. Yes, she was certain she heard a voice.

She could see into the barred window as it is placed too high. The cell was locked, but so far none of the locks she'd encountered had deterred her, and this one was no exception. Pulling one of her knives out from a boot, the elf slowly and carefully opened the door, grimacing as it hit against the body of the woman that was too close.

The sight before her was as heart wrenching as the scene behind her.

Chained to the wall and floor sat a human man. Covered in filth, obviously left to starve, he obviously suffered great tortures, judging from the lesions that covered his dirty skin. He was naked, his head bowed with long, dirty hair covering over his face. On the floor, just out of his reach, sat a bowl full of tepid water, a plate of moldy bread next to it. Too cruel, she thought, keeping the knife in her hand as she approached the lone prisoner. _What had he done to deserve th_is? And quickly dismissed that thought. _What had any of them done to deserve this? _

Slowly, carefully, she knelt down, staying just out of reach in case the poor man was violent or deranged. She ignored the human filth that covered the floor as she knelt there, watching as the man raised his head.

She gasped, wondering how long he had been here. She could tell that once he was a warrior, for his shoulders, though stooped, were broad. He was fairly thin, telling of weeks without proper food, lips parched, dried and cracked. His skin nearly gray, and his breathing rasping in the fetid air. His hair, hanging over his eyes, was red, and he peered at her with green eyes, misty with pain and misery. He blinked at her, as though trying to clear fog and sleep from his eyes.

In a dry, raspy voice he asked, "Are you real? Or is this another cruel dream?"

She was amazed at the clarity in which he spoke the words, knowing it was telling of his spirit and will to be as coherent as he was. She offered him a gentle smile. "I'm real." She wanted to reach out to him, but was still unsure of how he would react, and so she just smiled. "My name is Adela."

The man frowned. "I don't recognize you," he managed, a dry tongue licking at drier lips. "You are not one of the Cousland servants, are you?"

Shaking her head no, Adela replied. "No, I am not. I am a Grey Warden come to discover what happened here." She decided not to say more, and just waited for him to reply or ask.

Green eyes light with recognition and hope. "A Grey Warden?" his head lifted a bit further. "Is Duncan with you?"

Surprised he knew Duncan, she sadly shook her head, "I wish he were," she admitted freely, "But, sadly, no." Now she did reach out a hand to brush aside the hair that covered his eyes. He flinched somewhat, but did not move away. "What is your name?" she asked.

"My name is Gilmore," he replied, his head rising slightly more and his back straightening, as though recalling who he was helped to return him to humanity. "Ser Roland Gilmore. I was a knight here for the Teryn and his family."

Nodding, Adela's attention shifted to the chains that bound the man down. She reached for one of his hands, and, after a moment's pause, Roland obliged. Watching as she inspected the lock, he flinched slightly as she touched the raw skin beneath the manacle. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and then pulled a pin from her hair and began to work on releasing the lock.

It was rusted, and some damage appeared to have been done to the manacle (she assumed Roland tried bashing at the lock at one point) but she managed to get it undone and his wrist free. She wished she had brought some of Morrigan's poultices with her. She could tell that the wounds on his wrists are infected, as were most if not all of the wounds that covered his body.

Roland relaxed and let her undo the rest of the manacles that bound his hands and feet. He rose, unsteady on his feet, and gripped the wall for support. Straightening, he stumbled a bit, and Adela instinctively reached out and took hold of him by the waist. She was aware of his state of undress, and she noticed his flush as he became aware of it as well. Shaking her head, she helped him lean against the wall.

They were near the armory and she was certain that something there would fit him. However, she wanted to spare him any further humiliation if possible. Frowning in apology to the young man, Adela turned her back and lifted her skirts. In one quick motion, she tore the second layer of skirts free and pulled the length of cloth out. She handed this to Roland, and he gratefully accepted it, tying it about his narrow hips.

He stepped away from the wall and walked with halting steps toward the doorway. Adela put a hand on his arm to stop him. "What is beyond this door will be…difficult," she raised blue eyes full of emotion, "don't…don't look, just follow me and focus on the doorway out."

Roland stared at her for a moment, and then slowly nodded his head.

"We're going to the armory first," Adela told the human, "and then we're going to get you out of here". He nodded again, and then followed the little elf out of the cell.

She watched as he tried to avert his eyes, and stepped over to his side when he could not. He paled under the dirt and grime, under the gray complexion from lack of sunshine and food and breathing unhealthy air. She took his arm and pulled him with her, away from this. His eyes settled on the smaller pile that had been placed by his cell, and he stopped. A near immovable object, denial causing his feet to root to the stone floor, Adela had not the strength to pull him along.

"No," he whispered from between parched lips.

Adela again pulled at his arm. He wouldn't move. Frowning, she shook him, pulling again, saying his name, pulling again. The knight turned, his eyes focusing on the elf - the Grey Warden - and he stepped forward once, then another step. Then he let her pull him along, out of the wretched cells and up the stairs.

She couldn't get out of there fast enough, and the relief that swept over her when Roland allowed himself to be pulled away was extreme. The relief remained when she saw that no one had tampered with the lock to the armory. She quickly unlocked the door, pushed Roland inside, and then locked it up behind them.

The knight stepped over to a suit of silverite armor bearing the Cousland family heraldry. In one of the trunks, the elf found under padding and clothing and handed them to Roland, turning her back as he unwrapped the skirt and, with shaking hands, dressed. Realizing that stealth and subterfuge would no longer be necessary (and would no longer work, now that she had a gravely injured Highever knight in tow), the elf pulled a set of leather armor down fro a rack, stripped off the dress and replaced it with the armor. She was amazed it fit her almost perfectly (it was still a little large across the chest and waist). Pulling up the boots, she located a pair of daggers and gave them a test twirl, then picked up a longbow and quiver of arrows, slinging both over her shoulder.

She turned back to Roland, who was struggling with the clasps of the armor. Helping him with the last of the straps and buckles (she had gotten good at helping Alistair with his armor), she took a moment to get a better look at her new companion.

His face was haggard with grief and pain; what he had suffered these past weeks or perhaps months, was truly horrible. His eyes - a clear green - reflected that pain clearly. His nose and jaw were strong. _He'll need and want to bathe_, she thought, recalling the pond they had camped by a few days back. How she wished they could go to an inn! More so now than before. She snapped in the last buckle, and the knight turned to the weapon rack behind them.

With a deep sigh, the man pulled forth a magnificent longsword, its bluish blade encrusted with runes. He brought the hilt to his lips and kissed it, and then pulled the silverite shield emblazoned with the Cousland emblem. He hefted it, finding his footing secure and steady, then swung the sword in an arch. Although a bit unsteady at first, by the fourth swing he managed to follow through the feint, his feet planted firmly. With a look to his elven savior, the young knight gave her a nod. Together they left the armory and headed toward the kitchens.

As with her first trek through this part of the castle, the pair did not meet anyone - guard, servant or otherwise - on their way back to the pantry. Roland offered that it was most likely due to the severe damage this wing received during the invasion. Looking back at the fire blackened walls, crumbling stone and damaged archways, Adela found herself agreeing.

The elf kept a watchful eye on the human knight, pausing often to allow him to catch his breath. Roland would accept her kindness with a slight smile and stubbornly continued onward.

Adela pushed open the door to the kitchen, peeking in and noting that it was still empty of life. She grimaced as she stepped in with Roland behind, watching as his eyes settled upon the dark stains sunk into the stone floors. His lips tightened into a thin line, his eyes misted. Swallowing, he followed the young woman into the pantry.

And he stopped, staring at the stains that covered most of the exposed floor. Adela turned a questioning eye on him and noticed he was trembling and looked as though he would retch.

"Roland?" she asked, taking a step toward him. She heard the door to the tunnel start to open and realized her friends must have heard their entry. Standing before the knight, she placed a hand on his arm, hoping that, even through the metal he could feel her presence there, for it did not seem as though he saw her any longer. His eyes were focused upon the stains.

"This is where…" he started, his voice a mere whisper, not even looking up as Alistair stepped through the secret entry. Roland turned his eyes to Adela's hand, and then up to her face. "Those bodies, by the cell…those were of the Teryn and Teryna," a sob caught in his throat. "And…" he shook his head, unable to continue. Adela looked over at Alistair, who had been watching the pair with uncertainty.

"Alistair," she called to her fellow Warden, who stepped forward. The others came through into the pantry. Adela noted that Leliana hadn't returned from her scouting yet. "Alistair, this is Ser Roland Gilmore, a Knight of Highever." the aforementioned knight looked up. "Roland, this is Alistair, a fellow Grey Warden." Roland bowed his head.

Wishing Leliana was here to take care of the knight, Adela looked to the others, and was surprised when Morrigan stepped forward, a potion in hand, offering it to the knight. "Here," she pushed the potion into his hands, "drink this. 'Twould restore some strength to your limbs so that when we flee this place you may keep up."

Alistair pulled Adela aside as their witch tended the newest member of their group. "Where did you find him?" the human asked, staring down into her face.

"Alistair," she whispered, "it was horrible! I found him in the dungeons, alone," her eyes went back to the knight and watched as he followed Morrigan into the tunnel entrance. "chained to the floor and wall, without food, clothing…" she shook her head, fighting the nausea and tears she had been holding back for Roland's sake. "The dungeon was filled with the bodies of the…" she stopped, her head bowed.

Alistair stared over the top of her head. Then he nodded. "We now know what happened to the Teryn," he said softly.

Sniffing, she looked up, nodding. "I had thought Arl Howe was a snake, lecherous and unkind. But, this…" she trembled with anger, "only a monster could do something like…" She wiped a trembling hand across her eyes, steadying herself.

Taking a deep breath, gathering herself (_she had to be stronger than this_!), she said "This part of the castle seems to have been vacated." she shrugged. "I didn't meet a single person - servant, guard - at all. Which is rather strange," she looked thoughtful. "Roland and I are of a mind it's because of the damage to this part of the castle. It seemed rather excessive."

She looked around the pantry, taking in the dust covered cobwebs and rotten food, avoiding the stain on the floor. "I should go and find Leliana," she said almost absently, concern growing for their missing companion, stepping back from Alistair.

But her fellow Warden was shaking his head. "No," he said firmly, "let's not change the plans now." She looked up at him. "Look, we sent you and Leliana out to scout around different wings of the castle. You've done yours. That you didn't run into anyone was pure luck. Let Leliana finish her job."

Frowning, she bit her lip. Of course Alistair was right. If she changed the plans now, Leliana could very well be placed into danger (_if she hadn't already found it yet_, she thought). "How long was I gone?" she asked.

"About three hours," was the quick - very quick - response.

Adela raised a brow at that, but Alistair just looked at her. "Okay, we'll give Leliana another couple of hours. She's moving slower than I was anyway because she's been all quiet and stealthy, while I was just trying to blend in." She tapped her chin with a long finger, and glanced back at the entrance with concern. "Roland is going to need help," she turned back to Alistair. "He is very bad shape. I'm amazed he has the strength to carry that armor and his weapons."

"Really bad?" Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder. He frowned deeply as the elf nodded.

"I wish we could get him to an inn where he could get a proper bath, clothing, food…But, we can't risk it. Any inn near the castle will more than likely recognize him. And we can't have it out that one of their…" she grimaced in disgust, "prisoners escaped."

"There's the pond a couple of days back," Alistair offered.

"I know, I've thought of that. And, it's better than nothing. I'll have to scrub out his wounds…" she shivered. "I wish we had a proper healer with us."

"You do a fair good job of keeping us all whole and death free," he quipped, brushing a lock of her hair from her eyes.

She grinned up at him. "I know, but think of how much better it would be if I could just," and she waggled her fingers, "be all magical and heal all wounds instantly like a mage." She slumped. "I miss Albus."

Shaking his head, he gently turned her and pushed her toward the secret door. "If you had been born a mage," he said as he pushed her through, "You would have been at the tower and you'd never have become a Warden," he shut the door carefully, turning to gaze down at her, "and we would never have met." He grinned widely. "And guess who would still be sitting at Ostagar, whining that everyone died? Me." he poked himself in the chest.

"Silly human," the elf scolded, moving to take a seat by Roland to check on him. "You know damned well you would not have just stood there waiting for death." She smiled at Roland, offering him a water bottle from her pack, which he accepted gratefully. After scolding him to _drink slowly_, she looked back at her fellow Warden. "You don't give yourself enough credit, you know." She then turned back to her pack, searching out some bread to give to Roland, knowing he would be unable to eat anything more substantive at the moment.

Alistair watched as she took care of the Highever knight, smiling thoughtfully. "Yeah, well, you have never had occasion to follow me, _Commander_," his grinned widened as she shot him a nasty look, "so you don't know. Remember: No pants?"

She blinked, a slow smile forming on her lips. Then, the two Wardens shared a chuckle as their companions looked sharply at them at _that _remark.

DA:O

Leliana had returned an hour behind Adela, and did not have anything positive to share. By her estimate, there were at least two to three hundred soldiers stationed at the castle, and there was a rebuilding effort underway in the northern wing. While there were plenty of servants - mostly elven - she did not see any other humans save the soldiers. She had managed to poke into some of the rooms, but there were some areas she had been unable to access.

Roland had mentioned that one of the Teryn's children - a young woman named Elissa - was missing. Based upon some of the questions Howe and his lieutenants asked of him, he was under the impression they had not found her.

"That's good," Adela said, and Leliana nodded her head in agreement. "There is at least one surviving member of the family."

"'Course we need to find her," Alistair prompted, but Adela shook her head. "I'm afraid we can't take the time to try and locate a missing - or hiding - noblewoman." She sighed, not happy with that decision. "If they haven't found her yet, they most likely won't. She's safer wherever she is right now." She lifted her head, speaking gently into the obvious displeased looks she saw on both Alistair and Roland's faces. "Remember, Alistair. We Wardens have a price on our heads, people are looking for us to help fill their pockets with gold. If we start looking for this noblewoman, we could very well be placing her in even more danger or inadvertently leading her enemies to her." She looked from one face to the other, grateful as she saw them both ease, accepting her reasoning. "We also have some treaties to enforce, and an Arl to get on board before we can even think of ending this silly Blight."

With a heavy sigh, knowing she was right (_that's why she's in charge_, he thought) Alistair bent to pick up his pack.

Roland looked over at the elven and human Wardens. "You should probably go back to the armory," he whispered, his throat still dry and unused to speaking, "there may be more weapons or armor for use." he grimaced. "I am certain the Teryn would rather the Wardens use whatever is there than risk Howe's men getting their hands on them."

Glancing back to the doorway, Adela nodded, "Okay. Alistair and Sten will go with me. Leliana," she turned to the bard, "You and Morrigan will take Roland and Hafter out and back to camp. We'll follow as quickly as we can."

"Is separating the group a wise idea?" Alistair asked, feeling it his duty to do so.

She nodded, "Roland is in no condition to fight," she smiled apologetically at the knight. "The sooner he's out of here, and into fresh air, the better. Morrigan," she turned to the witch, "make sure you give him some of your potions, the ones for strength and stamina, but not for healing," the witch raised an eyebrow. The elf explained. "The potions will heal the skin over infected wounds, and they need to be cleansed first." With a slight nod, the witch turned away. Leliana grinned at the elf, and together with Morrigan helped Roland to his feet, and began walking him out.

DA:O

Several hours later, now with quality armor and weapons, the group reunited at camp. Roland had been given a bedroll and was currently sleeping in Adela's tent. They were too close to the castle to risk a camp fire, so they alternated watch, two at a time, throughout the night, and then, before first light and after a cold breakfast of bread and cheese, packed up and headed back southward.


	15. Chapter 15

_I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine - both the ivory and silver). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. _

_As always, thank you all for the reviews. mutive, Windchime68, Arsinoe de Blassenville, zevgirl, phoenixandashes. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum! And the alerts and favs - always a great boost!_

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 15_

The next night they arrived at the pond. Adela had insisted that Roland bathe and handed him some elf root soap Morrigan had and he was inclined to wholeheartedly agree. Alistair accompanied the knight, who was still far too weak to be on his own, to watch over him, making certain he did not slip and drown.

The knight was grateful for the care the group had given him, especially for the ministrations of the elven Warden. He was also very grateful that Alistair merely walked with him down to the water, letting the proud knight travel under his own power. The ex-Templar had lent him underclothes as well as a pair of breeches and a tunic to change into.

With a heavy sigh, grimacing in pain, the Highever knight pulled off the clothes he had been wearing for the past couple of days and tossed them aside. They were going to need to be washed, he thought, trying to ignore the sympathetic grimace he saw cross the other man's face when he saw the numerous wounds that covered Roland's back. He bent down and picked up the soap and cleaning cloth Adela had given to him.

Taking a steadying breath, Roland stepped into the water, ignoring the chill of it, walking until he was covered to the waist with the cold water. Cold or not, it felt wonderful to finally be able to wash off months of filth, blood and grime. He ducked under the water, feeling his too-long hair fan out around his head. Gasping as he broke the surface, and quickly washed his hair and body.

His wounds were terribly infected, and Adela had said that she would need to lance them and drain the poison before being able to apply the healing poultices and potions. She feared having the flesh heal over the wounds, letting the poison to flow through his system anymore than it already had. He remembered the look on her face as she discussed what needed to be done. However, after months of torture, starvation and the inevitability of death looming over him, having his wounds lanced by the gentle elf did not seem quite as traumatic to him as it seemed for her.

He found himself wondering about the small elf. She seemed too gentle a soul to be a Grey Warden, and, if what he gleaned from the little quips and jokes Alistair tossed at her was correct, she was the Commander of the Grey in Fereldan. Well, all two of them. He frowned. Duncan had visited Highever a few months ago, seeking to recruit Roland into their ranks. The only reason Roland had not gone with the Commander at that time was his duty to the Cousland family. He had been with them since childhood, and although his greatest desire in life had been to become a Grey Warden, he had duties and responsibilities to see to before leaving their service; the most important was to select his replacement. He was to have met up with the Warden at Ostagar to submit to the joining. It was the night prior to his leaving - with the Teryn and the balance of their troops - that Howe had shown his true colors and decimated the family and nearly everyone within the castle. Shuddering, he pulled his memories away from that night, not quite ready to deal with them.

Would Adela allow him to join? He decided that he would ask, once he was stronger.

He finished his bath, wincing at the pain his many wounds caused him. Hopefully, after tonight, they would no longer be an issue. He was not looking forward to it, but it needed to be done.

After drying and dressing in his small clothes and wrapping up in the drying cloth, Roland accompanied Alistair back to the camp.

Adela had lent Roland her tent for during his recuperation, deciding to sleep outside. He had protested, but the elf told him she enjoyed sleeping outdoors, attributing it to her Dalish heritage, even telling him of how she used to sleep on the roof of her home in the Alienage on especially hot nights. Although he had felt strange allowing the little elven woman to give up her tent to him, he had appreciated the comfort it afforded him. Now, the tent flap was open and Adela had just crawled out. She smiled at him when he entered the camp site.

"Roland," she called out to him as she stepped away from the tent. "You should go in and lie down. I need to finish gathering some things and I'll be in shortly."

He nodded, feeling more than a little self conscious about being in the tent alone with the pretty woman. She did not seem bothered by it as she pushed him along and went to the fire to gather the hot water, cloths and poultices she would need.

He entered the tent to find that she had placed another drying cloth over his bedroll and a second sheet for him to cover with. Based upon their earlier discussion, he knew that Adela wanted to drain all of the infected wounds, but he now felt very self conscious. He would have to be naked as most of his body was covered. And some of the tortures…his head drooped as he thought of the techniques Howe had employed to humiliate him and cause harm. Some of his wounds he was not anxious or willing for the elven woman to see.

He removed his small clothes and lay down on his belly, pulling the sheet up over his hips. Shortly thereafter, Adela entered, closing the tent flap. She placed the pot of hot water by the entrance, and arranged cloths and poultices to within easy reach. In her hand she had one of her carving knives. Clenched in the other hand was a small vial with a murky liquid.

"Roland," she said his name quietly, gently, passing the vial over to him, "Morrigan brewed a mild sedative. It will help you through the pain," he noticed her voice was very soft. Nodding, he accepted the vial and, uncorking it, swallowed the contents. The taste was bitter and vile, but soothing and warm, and he soon felt a bit of lethargy settle upon him. He crossed his arms and laid his head down, closing his eyes and tried to relax.

Small, warm hands passed over his shoulders and back, prodding at the wounds, testing them. He felt a pressure and the sharp pain as she cut into one large wound at his left shoulder blade. He hissed, and she apologized, squeezing the poison out and scrubbing at the wound with a hot cloth soaked in water and elf root. He still felt the pain, but it eased as the poison filled sac was emptied. With her free hand, the elf rubbed his shoulder, trying to soothe and relax him as she then packed the wound with a poultice.

The air in the tent was warm, almost humid with their breathing and the steam from the kettle. Roland found himself relaxing, enjoying the feeling of Adela's hands roaming over his body. He could almost ignore the pain that accompanied those hands. His eyes shot open as he realized he was having a very strong reaction to Adela's treatment. Horrified, he tensed; Adela asked if he was alright and he told her he was, that the last cut hurt a little too much. She apologized; sitting back on her heals as she applied a poultice to the wound she had created. He closed his eyes, willing his body to _stop_! He knew it had been a long time - even longer than the time he spent in the dungeons - since he had been touched by anyone so intimately. It was a natural physical reaction, but that did not stem the shame he felt warm his cheeks. Forcing his breathing to slow to normal, his heartbeat eased, and he felt other parts of his anatomy relax as well.

She continued the process - identified a pocket of poison, cut quickly into it, drain the poison, clean, and then treat with a poultice - many times, working her way down his back. He tensed when she got to the wounds located on his buttocks, closing his eyes, willing himself to _not think about it_. She hesitated, once again asking if he was alright. He nodded, joking that it was a little disconcerting to have her touching him _there_. There was a nervous giggle on her part and she promised not to look too closely. It was a bit more difficult for him to ignore her hands _there_, but he was able to keep himself relaxed and focused. That done, she covered him with the sheet, and then turned her attention to his legs, which were far more infected than the rest of his body. Roland had expressed concern about that, and Adela told him it was most likely due to his having to sit in the filth for so long.

Once done, she ordered the man to roll onto his back, and repeated her ministrations along his chest, arms and legs. As she finished the last wound on the bottom of his feet, she looked up at him, meeting his eyes.

"Are there other wounds?" she asked, almost shyly. The direction the wounds on his body took, she was fairly certain that there were.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded. "I'd…I'd rather take care of that myself," he responded, with a nervous chuckle. "I don't really want anything sharp and pointy there anyway."

Blushing crimson, the elf nodded. "I suppose I can understand that," she said with a forced giggle. She handed him several poultices. "Okay, then…ah, apply these to…" she coughed, blushing even brighter, "to the area. Hopefully it will draw enough of the poison out." She then handed him a few health potions. "Once that's done, drink one of these before you fall asleep. And then again in the morning. These should help speed up the healing process."

She began to gather her supplies, and the young knight watched her. _She is very pretty_, he thought, watching as her delicate hands scooped up the poultices and clothes. She turned her eyes to him. _It's her eyes_, he realized as he gazed into their depths. "Thank you, Adela," he spoke softly.

She smiled at him, moving to the tent flap. "You are most welcome, Ser Knight," she grinned before leaving. "Get some sleep." and with those words, she exited the tent.

Placing the healing potions down and picking up the poultices, Roland went about following her orders.

DA:O

Leliana was sitting by the fire when Adela exited the tent, her quill back in her mouth, while she still worked on the song for the Tree of the People (Leliana had told her that was its 'working title'). Morrigan was nowhere to be seen (although judging by the splashing sound, Adela guessed she was bathing), Alistair sat on the other side of the fire cleaning his armor and sword (he looked up and gave her a bright smile) and the Sten…well, as per usual, he had taken up a post at the other end of the camp, convinced they would be attacked at any moment.

"How's the patient?" Alistair asked, his attention back to his armor.

Adela dumped the dirty water by a tree, setting it beside other dirty dishes to be washed later on. "I think I've taken care of the worst of his wounds," she replied as she tossed the cloths into a separate pile. She sighed, taking a seat next to the other Warden. "His wounds were many." She frowned, looking into the fire. "How can anyone do that to another living soul?"

Leliana, not looking up from her parchment, piped in with a sad voice, "There are many in this world who do not follow the Maker's plans, and seek to do harm to others," she then lifted her head, staring into the fire as though with memory, "sometimes it is hard to fathom that there are people in the world like that."

There was Morrigan's familiar scoff as she sauntered back to camp, her raven hair wet and loose about her shoulders. "Do not follow the Maker's plan indeed," the witch sneered at the former Chantry Sister. "Most of the world's strife can be placed firmly and solely upon the shoulders of the Chantry."

Leliana was about to respond, when Adela held up a hand, "Ladies, please," she said, raising her eyes from the fire, "I really do not want to have a religious debate started now, tonight." She looked from one set of clear blue eyes to the other of feral yellow. "If you two must have this conversation, please do so elsewhere."

"Why?" Alistair asked, curious. "Don't you believe in the Maker?"

She gave him a sidelong look, and Alistair realized it was _that _look. "I do. I also revere the Creators," she sighed at the humans' blank looks, "The elven gods. My patron is June, God of Craft." She tossed a stick into the fire. "But, I do tend to agree with Morrigan with regards to the Chantry, and therefore I'd prefer not to get drawn into a debate. I'm too tired."

Preening, Morrigan shot Leliana a triumphant smile, rose and waltzed back to her tent, retiring for the night without a goodnight to anyone.

She shot the chantry sister a glance, one that she hoped told Leliana without doubt that she was not in the mood for this discussion. Alistair, grinning away, stood, saying that he was in a cleaning mood and so, picked up the dishes, kettle, and cloths, and made his way to the pond to clean them.

Watching the other Warden walk off, Leliana picked up her parchment, inkwell and quill and moved to sit next to Adela.

"So," the bard carefully arranged her inkwell on the log, just holding her quill and parchment, "he's rather handsome, isn't he?"

Her eyes narrowing (she knew how much Leliana loved to gossip), the elf turned to look at the woman. "Who?" she asked, certain she knew of whom the bard meant.

"Well," she grinned, warming up to the topic, "I suppose we do have two handsome young men accompanying us."

"Leliana…" Adela's tone was warning. "If you are talking about Roland, give the poor man a break. He's just recovering…"

But the pretty Orlesian merely held up her hands, "Oh, I know, I know. But, under those wounds, and despite how thin he is, you can tell, he is quite handsome." Her grin grew. "But, I wasn't talking about our latest addition to our extremely attractive group. No. I meant your fellow Warden."

_I knew it! _Rolling her eyes, Adela tossed another stick at the fire. "Yes, he is quite handsome," the elf conceded. She looked at her friend. "Why? Are you interested?"

"Oh, no, no, no," she giggled girlishly, "I shall leave our golden god to you, ma cheri," her posture relaxed more, "as he has eyes only for you, my pet."

She couldn't help it, she blushed a bit, and raised one brow. "So, you _are _thinking of perhaps pursuing our ginger haired knight, then?"

Leliana's lovely blue eyes widened, and she giggled more. "Oh, no, no, my friend. Although I do so enjoy a masculine touch every now and again, it is the…" her eyes drifted toward Morrigan's tent and then back to Adela, "fairer sex that I find far more attractive."

Eyes wide, a blush at her cheeks, Adela looked to the witch's tent and then back at Leliana's glowing face. "You and Morrigan?" the elf managed to get out, astonished. Leliana turned back to her friend, a dreamy smile on her pretty face. "I don't know, Leliana," Adela remarked. "I'm thinking that perhaps Morrigan isn't quite into…." she waved a hand, "that."

Grinning hugely, the bard tugged Adela into a hug, which before this latest declaration would not have made her quite so uncomfortable. _Now_? "Ah, come now, ma petite, I will have Morrigan," she rose up, picking up inkwell, parchment and quill and walked away, "eating out of my hand." And, with a flourish, she disappeared into her tent.

She was still staring at the Orlesian's tent when Alistair returned.

"Is something wrong?" he asked as he placed the cooking ware into the pack, tossing the cloths at her with a grin. The elf shook her head, and rose to help hang the cloths up to dry.

"Nothing is wrong," she clarified as she stood next to him, reaching up to toss a cloth over a rope he had hung up earlier. She glanced back at Leliana's tent. "Orlesians are…strange, aren't they?" she queried her tone quiet and bit confused.

Alistair laughed. "Well, ours is a bit…" he bent down to whisper conspiratorially into her ear. "off." He nudged her with his shoulder while hanging the last of the cloths up.

"Well, as long as it's not just me," she grinned up at the taller human. "I've been told my whole life they are not to be trusted, and that they are without morals." Giggling, she said, "I think I'll amend my own opinion to that they are just so…"

"Odd? Rambunctious? Shoe fanatics?"

"No, just different."

"Oh," Alistair said with a shrug, watching as his friend sat down on the ground, leaning against the log as she pulled the map from her satchel. "But, that's not quite as amusing as other…"

Snorting, she shook her head at him, "As amusing as it may be to discuss the differences between an Orlesian and Fereldan," she waved the map, "I want to go over our route with you."

"Sounds good," he gave a little grunt as he sat down beside the elf.

Spreading the map out on her lap, she laid one finger on the general area she believed they were in. "I think that our next stop should be the Tower of Magi," her finger traced the route to the Tower. Alistair's eyebrows shot up.

"Why not head right to Redcliffe?" he asked, looking back at the map.

Smiling, she shook her head, "We could make it to Redcliffe in less than a week from here," she said, tracing a route from their current position to village. "But, we practically go right by the Tower," she then retraced the route to the Tower. "We can be there in about two days." She tapped the icon depicting Lake Calenhad and the Tower, "And, then, it's another two, maybe three days from the Tower to Redcliffe on foot," she traced the land route from Tower to village, "or we can catch the ferry and be to the village within a day or two." She looked up into Alistair's face, watching as considered her suggestion. She liked how his thoughts were clearly displayed on his handsome face. She knew that he wanted to see the Arl as soon as possible, but she didn't want to waste any more time in gathering their other allies.

"Alistair," she shook his shoulder when he didn't reply, "I know you want to see Arl Eamon as soon as possible. But, we'd waste time by going there straight from here following our current route." Alistair turned his amber eyes to hers. "We go to the Tower, talk to whoever is in charge, show them our fancy treaties," she shrugged, tugging on the satchel containing the scrolls. "We remind them of their obligations to the Wardens, they all nod in acquiescence, and then we can leave." Her smile was almost smug, "couple of hours, tops, easy-peasy. And," now her voice had an almost wistful quality, "we can take a boat to the fishing village."

A chuckle burst from his lips. "Sooo…you just want an excuse to take a boat ride, do you?" he teased, nudging her with his shoulder, enjoying the little blush the rose on her cheeks.

"So?" she asked, her hands spreading out the map, smoothing out the wrinkles. "We should have some fun while running all over the country, gathering allies, on our way to stop the Blight," she nudged him back.

Laughing, he snatched up the map, taking another look at the route Adela had traced out. It made sense; this way they could easily save a week's travel. Yes, he did want to go see the Arl. Of course, seeing the Arl would only open up another matter that the young man was not in any hurry to discuss with Adela. The thought of talking to her about it caused a bit of tension in the pit of his stomach.

"Okay, oh fearless leader," he teased, "we'll go to the Circle first."

"Good," she said as she snatched the map away and refolded it. "If Roland is feeling up to it, we'll set off tomorrow."

DA:O

Roland proved that he was, indeed, up to the trek to the Tower. Fortunately for them, the only troubles they encountered were a couple small bands of bandits. Although ordered to not engage in any melee combat, the Highever knight proved quite efficient with a crossbow. The bandits were easily dispatched and the group continued to Lake Calenhad.

The Tower was set a fair way from the shore, a row boat docked for use for traffic to and from the Tower. Nestled against the hillock was an inn, the Spoiled Princess. Pleased that there was an inn (Adela planned on their staying there after their business at the Tower), she turned back to the Tower.

Morrigan snorted as they approached the dock. "A man most definitely had built this towering obscenity," she quipped, staring at the high tower, "for only a man would build such an obvious phallus symbol."

Leliana giggled at the witch, who merely rolled her yellow eyes at the bard. The Sten stared at the tower with interest. "Hmm. A prison for mages." He frowned slightly. "Seems a waste of effort and space. We of the Qun cut the tongues from our mages and keep them leashed."

Adela stopped while Morrigan sputtered for a suitable reply. Adela spoke first. "Your people cut out mages' tongues?" her voice betrayed her distaste. "And keep them leashed?"

The Sten turned his impassive eyes to the outraged elf, his lavender eyes revealing nothing. "They are beasts, and are therefore harnessed as beasts."

"Beasts?" Morrigan had found her voice. Leliana placed a calming hand on the witch's arm, turning her from the Qunari.

"I _think_," Adela spoke, her voice rising above the fury of the witch, "that _this _is a conversation for another time." She looked pointedly at the Sten. "A much later time." The Qunari warrior merely bowed his head slightly at her.

Deciding she did not want to learn of the Qun or any of their other practices, Adela led the group to the dock.

The attendant at the boat was an idiot. Even Adela could not be diplomatic about her opinion, although she did not voice it. There was something strange about the Templar's eyes, an empty quality that reminded her of those few elves she knew addicted to opium. Oh, what did he say his name was? Carroll? He complained about being peckish (_why would she care_?) but the Sten came to the rescue and offered the Templar his bag of cookies. Adela laughed and asked the Qunari where he got the cookies, to which he responded, "I took them from a fat, slovenly child in the last village we passed."

"You mean you stole them?" the elf raised an eyebrow.

"No, I liberated them from him. He had no further need of them." the Sten looked calmly into her eyes as they all boarded the boat. "I suggested he take up calisthenics to work off the extra weight."

She rolled her eyes at the huge man. Definitely the Qunari would not fit in well with Fereldan culture. She didn't even want to see it tried.

So, with all of them on board, Carroll sat at one set of oars, the Sten at a second, and together, the two of them rowed the boat toward the other dock.

Alistair, sitting next to Adela, nudged her shoulder. "So, now you get your boat ride," he teased.

Smiling up at him, she shook her head, "No, no…not a rowboat ride." She lifted her head, letting the breeze flow over her face. "I want to ride in a _real _boat." She sighed. "Take a ship somewhere exotic and far away."

Roland, who was sitting across from the pair, smiled at the elf. Adela returned the smile, enjoying the feel of the water rolling beneath the boat. One look at Alistair, however, told her that he may not be enjoying the ride quite so much. Leaning against him, she whispered, "Do you not like boat rides?" she asked, concerned.

"No, not really," he admitted, frowning up at the tower. "Although it's not really a physical thing."

"Oh?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to look into his face. He wasn't looking ill, just unhappy.

"Yeah, well, you know I was in training to become a Templar?" the elf nodded. "Well, the last time I rode a boat - this boat - was during my training." He frowned. "Every initiate, prior to taking his vows, must participate in a Harrowing."

"What is a Harrowing?" the elf asked.

Alistair's lips pursed together. "The Harrowing is the final test of an apprentice before they become a full mage. It's a test to see…" his head drooped slightly, "…to see if they can hold off against a demon." he shrugged. "I came here to attend my first harrowing. The girl they brought in was young," he pushed a lock of Adela's blond hair behind her ear. "Younger than you. And tiny," he looked into her eyes, "actually, she was an elf and looked quite a bit like you." He sighed then. "They had her enter the Fade. But," his voice softened to a whisper. "She couldn't resist the demon that was there. She awoke as an abomination, and the elder Templars present had to…" his voice trailed, and Adela put her arm around his waist. "They killed her."

Hugging him, Adela leaned her head on his shoulder, "And that's why you didn't want to become a Templar?" she asked. She felt Alistair nod his head.

Looking back at the looming tower, feeling the repressiveness exude from it, the elf said, "Well, hopefully we won't have to spend much time here."

DA:O

The atmosphere within the Tower was tense. Tense, fearful, resigned. Adela didn't like it, and it only took one look to Alistair's face to know that something was definitely wrong.

An older man, with gray hair and a short gray beard, dressed in the heavy Templar armor - replete with purple skirt (she decided to ask Alistair about that little fashion statement later) - turned to them, irritation clear on his lined face. "What? How did you get here?" he demanded, stepping forward, "I specifically told Carroll no one was to enter the Tower."

Taking her cue, Adela stepped forward the treaty for the mages already in hand. "I am Adela, Commander of the Grey here in Fereldan," she and Alistair had both thought she should sound as official as possible. "I have here a treaty that obligates the Circle to offer their assistance during a Blight."

The templar glared at the elf, but found his voice to speak as cordially as possible. "I am Knight-Commander Gregoir." His brown eyes flashed with irritation. "And I am tired of the Grey Wardens' demands upon the circle!"

_Really_? Adela's brows rose, and she straightened. She was not going to let this man intimidate her. They had too much left to do. "I am sorry that the Blight has interfered with whatever you have going on here," she said, trying hard to keep sarcasm from her voice, but knew that she failed. "However, the Circle has an obligation, and it would be in everyone's best interest…"

But Gregoir merely waved his hand at her, dismissing her words. "Yes, yes. I understand the Wardens claim there is a Blight, however, that is not my concern. My concern is to see that the mages are contained. And, as you can see, we have our own problems now."

"What is the problem, Knight-Commander?" Alistair asked, stepping beside the elf, hoping he didn't overstep himself.

"Simply put, we have had to seal the tower," Gregoir motioned toward a set of heavy metal doors on the other end of the chamber. "Abominations have been set loose, and I have sent to Denerim for the Writ of Annulment."

Alistair blanched at that, but Adela didn't understand. "Writ of Annulment?"

"To neutralize the Circle," the Knight-Commander advised, "completely."

"Are you telling me that every single mage in the Tower are now abominations?" the elf asked, still not quite following.

Gregoir shook his head, "No. However, we could not take the risk of any of the abominations getting loose, so we…"

"Locked up the place, you and your Templars safe, while innocent mages are left to die in there?" Adela felt like screaming, and Alistair could tell she was getting angry. He placed a hand on her arm. Gregoir was getting angry at the elf.

"I have even had to lock some of my Templars in there," he justified, "the Writ will be approved, and we will eliminate the Circle completely."

"Every Templar's dream come true," Morrigan chimed in, her cultured yet archaic tones heavy with sarcasm. "To kill all of the mages in one fell swoop. 'Tis a pity you cannot simply abort the abominations prior to their birth, now, is it not?" Her yellow eyes met with the Templar's, hers rife with hatred, his with anger.

"How dare you?" the Knight-Commander demanded, taking a step toward the witch. Morrigan held her head higher as Leliana stepped protectively to her side. Roland and Sten each flanked the woman, while Adela called out to the Templar.

"Hold your ground, Ser," she commanded, facing the enraged man. While she agreed wholeheartedly with Morrigan's assessment, she truly wished the apostate would, just this once, keep quiet. "Our discussion is regarding the treaty the Circle must oblige." The Templar turned back to her, his fury easing somewhat.

"And how do you propose for us to do so, _Warden_?" he asked dubiously.

"We will go in and destroy all abominations we find."

Brown eyes narrowed in thought. "I shall only open those doors if the First Enchanter himself stands before them and assures me that the Tower is cleaned."

Adela met his eyes with the appearance of calm. Yet she did not feel calm. If they failed, if the First Enchanter was dead…what would that mean for them? She looked back over at her companions. Morrigan was still glaring at the commander of the Templars, while Leliana stood beside her talking in soothing tones. The Sten, as always, simply stood, impassive, awaiting orders. Her gaze shifted to Roland, who returned her gaze with open frankness. She was worried about bringing him into an almost certain battle. However, she saw the determination, the resolution in his clear green eyes and decided he could come in as well. Hafter bumped up against her thigh, and then she looked up at Alistair. Her fellow Warden had absolute faith in her decision. She could see that clearly in his amber eyes.

Taking a breath, she turned back to the Knight-Commander. "Alright, we will go in, destroy any abominations we find, and seek out your First Enchanter."

Gregoir stood staring into the elf's eyes for a moment, as though trying to take her measure. Then, with a curt nod, he moved aside to allow the party through.

The Templars at the inner doors appeared nervous as the party approached. One of the Templars muttered something about their being addled to risk so much for a "bunch of mages". Adela pointedly ignored the remark, and was glad Morrigan was too far in the back to hear the obstinate remark. She stepped through the doorway, the others following. The doors closed behind them with an ominous _thud_.

DA:O

To say that the Tower was a living nightmare would be an understatement. Adela had never seen an abomination before, and hoped to never again in her life. They were twisted images of humanity, made more grotesque in the knowledge that once they were human or elven. They were strong, some managing to cast some spells, but it was in their death throes that they were more deadly. Each body of the abomination would explode once their final breath expelled, creating a massive fireball. Had they not encountered the healer, Wynne, they would never have survived the first time they had been so trapped.

Wynne. Adela was thanking the Maker for her the further into the Tower they went. She remembered the elderly mage from Ostagar; she had been the one that Duncan had relied upon for preparing the blood for the joining. She had not had the chance to speak with her at Ostagar, but the mage remembered seeing her.

They found her in a large chamber, barred at one end with a shimmering barrier of magic, protecting a group of children. Adela had been surprised to find the children, and this only further enhanced her anger at the Knight-Commander for what she saw as his cowardice. _He left children to suffer_!

Wynne had insisted upon going with them, but Adela was concerned about leaving the children alone with a few apprentices. She therefore left Morrigan, Leliana, Hafter and Roland behind to watch over them. Morrigan was more than a little miffed, but Leliana was quite pleased to stay with the children, and had immediately engaged them in a song loop to help keep their minds away from the dire situation they were in. The Highever knight appeared as though he would argue her decision, but after taking one look at her face he nodded his agreement. The war hound whined his disagreement with being left behind, but Adela told him to watch over the children and perhaps they would play with him, and he seemed to reconsider. She grinned as she watched the huge animal happily wag his tail as the children climbed over him.

Shaking her head, she turned to watch as Wynne gathered the magical energies needed to dispel the barrier she had erected over the doorway that led further into the tower.

DA:O

She stood in a garden, surrounded by high, stone walls, vines crawling up the sides, curving over the tops. Roses and wisteria grew from several plots, mingled with daisies and irises, tulips and narcissus, and other flowers she did not know the names of. She turned, smiling. This was her favorite spot in the palace; the garden that Cailan had taken her to the first time she had been brought to the palace by her father, just months after her mother's death. Cailan had told her that this had been his mother's garden, one she had cultivated with her own hands, and he always came here whenever he missed her. She remembered how he had smiled down at her, telling her that if she wanted, he would share this spot with her, so that she could come here when she was lonely and think of her mother.

She smoothed her hands down the pink fabric of her dress. This was her favorite dress, one Anora had purchased for her. The pink color brought out the rosiness in her skin tone, and made her hair appear more yellow, her eyes a brighter blue. A stone bench stood just behind her and, with a happy sigh, she lowered herself to the cool stone.

Gazing out at the flowers about her, she let the feeling of peace and joy sweep over her. Birds were heard singing nearby, squirrels chirping at one another. _Most likely fighting over the bird seed_, she mused. She turned her head toward the sound of heavy boot falls upon the cobbled pathway.

Loghain stepped into view, his black hair gleaming in the sunlight, his blue eyes becoming intense when they settled upon the young elf. He was dressed practically, as always, in brown trousers and white and tan tunic. A slight smile crossed his thin lips as he approached her.

"Ah, there you are," he said in his low, dry voice. He reached a hand to her, which she accepted. He pulled her up and into his embrace, his mouth pressing down onto hers, kissing her with great fervor. With a happy sigh, she returned the kiss in full, running her hands through his hair. He pulled her body further into his, the kiss growing with intensity and passion, his tongue sweeping over her lips, seeking entry to her mouth. An unfamiliar feeling swept over her, a warming feeling that flowed from her abdomen and lower. Loghain's hand moved down her back, pulling her even closer and she could feel his own arousal.

Gasping, she pushed herself away, her lips bruised and swollen from the kiss. Loghain looked down at her, the look of surprise clear upon his face. A frown formed between his brows. "Is something wrong, Adela?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

She shook her head, unable to vocalize what felt amiss. But there was a tiny niggle in the back of her mind. Loghain stepped back to her, taking her hands in his very large ones. "Come now, my wife," he smiled at her confused look, "perhaps you just need to rest."

_Wife_? "Loghain I…" she shook her head again, trying hard to clear out the fog, but it only strengthened. She raised her fingers to her temples as a headache started to bloom. She felt Loghain's hand under her chin. He lifted her face to his and bent down to kiss her, gently. "Perhaps it is the pregnancy tiring you," he said softly.

A hand went reflectively to her abdomen. It still felt flat, no sign of the life that Loghain said was growing there.

"How can I be your wife, Loghain?" she asked in a small voice, looking up into his intense blue eyes.

He scowled, the furrow between his brows deepening. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Because I asked and you said yes," he said dryly.

It didn't make sense. She stepped back, still watching her husband. "But, Cailan and Anora could not even convince the nobles to allow elves fundamental rights," she argued, "why would they allow someone as important as you to marry one?"

The scowl deepened further, "Do you truly expect that I would allow some fool nobles to dictate whom I marry?" He had his hands on her again, pulling her to him, staring into her eyes. "I made the mistake once not to be with the woman I love; I'd be damned if I'd do it again!"

The bird song was starting to fade, and strangely, she noticed that. Loghain was speaking again, "You are tired, my dear," she felt his hands, heavy on her shoulders. "Cailan and Anora have been preparing…."

"What?" she spun around in his hands, shock clearly on her face, "Cailan?" Her body started shaking. _Wasn't Cailan dead_?

Something was not right. If she was married to Loghain, why could she not remember the wedding, or the engagement? She looked over at him. Or even the courtship? The last time…when was the last time she spoke with him? She placed a hand to her lips. He had kissed her, with fierceness. She remembered that. A promise…_what promise_?

Loghain was watching her, interest clear in his eyes. Worry as well. Again her hand went to her stomach. _And he tells me I'm pregnant? Yet, I don't feel it…_

'Loghain," she turned to him. "What happened at Ostagar?" She watched as his face moved through several emotions, which was unusual for him. One to always keep his emotions and thoughts to himself, this was new. Or maybe she just learned how to read him better?

"You do not recall our routing the darkspawn?" he asked, a slight tilt to his head. "Cailan led the charge, decimated the darkspawn." He stepped closer, smiling down at her. "You and your fellow Grey Warden, that lad Alistair, lit the beacon at the signal. Our forces crushed the darkspawn hoard between just as was planned." A frown formed then. "You, my dear, did not obey Duncan's final orders to you, to remain at the Tower. You took it into your lovely head to join the battle." Concern was there in his eyes. "You arrived by Cailan's side as he defeated the ogre that had killed Duncan. You were…" he grimaced, "badly wounded before I arrived to remove you from the field."

She was shaking her head. _This was wrong_…"Where is Alistair?" she asked.

A black brow rose. "He is the Commander of the Grey, stationed at the headquarters here at the palace."

"But I'm the Commander," she insisted. "Duncan appointed me…"

"My dear bride," Loghain shook his head at her. "You are carrying my child. Were you truly planning on fighting any stray darkspawn in your condition?"

Taking a deep breath, she spoke. "No, this is wrong," she paced out of his hands moving several feet away. "No. The…Cailan died. I saw him. I was injured, yes, but," she turned and looked Loghain in the eyes. "It was Alistair that got to me, not you…" tears formed in her eyes. Loghain's were suddenly impassive. "You never arrived. Your troops…those of Maric's Shield, never joined the battle. There was no routing of the darkspawn," anger now rose, and she stepped up to Loghain, hitting him in the chest with one small fist. "Everyone was killed!"

"Adela," his voice was firm, scolding, and he grabbed a hold of her, not too gently. His face was twisted in anger. "Are you denying that I love you?"

"Love me?" she whispered, tears running down her face. _What was this_? "I don't know if you loved me." She remembered. "One kiss, one promise to talk after the battle, a gift," her hand went to her breast. _Where was the charm_? "But never a declaration of love. We never spoke because there was no after the battle!"

She spun away from him. The bird song and squirrel chirping had ceased. And she was now dressed in her leathers, her daggers at her hips, her bow and quiver on her back.

Loghain stood before her, hissing in hatred and anger, his face twisted into something not human. "Foolish child!" the Not-Loghain shouted at her. "I could give you anything you wanted." It swept a hand out, encompassing the garden. "I can make you happy here!"

She shook her head, pulling her daggers free of their sheaths. "No," her voice was resolute. "I can make my own happiness, thank you!"

"Ah…" it leered at her, circling her. "But happiness is never without a price. There is always despair, sadness, loss," it continued it's circuit around her. "How can you even know that you would ever have the man who holds your heart? Here," again it swept out a hand, which was now a clawed thing. "you can."

"False," she spat out, following it move for move, not letting it get behind her. "In life, you accept the bad along with the good. Without the loss, the pain, any happiness in life becomes stale, unappreciated. It is through loss we learn to love and accept."

It hissed again, "Then you shall learn loss, my dear," and it lunged at her, its claws sweeping out to catch her across the face.

The elf was quick and agile and alert; she danced out of the way of the creature. She stepped back, then lunged forward, her dagger leading the way. Ducking under its arms, she ripped a deep gash in its stomach. Foul air hissed from the wound, and, not taking notice the monster fell back, hissing its anger at her.

The garden around them was fading, taking on a more surreal appearance. Like a watercolor painting exposed to moisture the colors were now muted, almost bleeding into each other. Disturbed, further aware that she must still be in the tower (she remembered!) the elf circled her opponent, whose resemblance to Loghain was quickly fading.

The demon-Loghain-thing leaped at her, pushing her back. One claw managed to connect, slicing a wound along her jaw. Crying out in pain, the elf stepped back and to the side of the thing, digging in with both daggers, driving them deeply into the chest region. It stumbled back.

Still using Loghain's voice, it cried out, "I can take you to the one you want!" It barely avoided one dagger as the other cut across the side of its neck. It was pleading now. "He is here," it continued, its eyes, still blue, watching as the elf now circled it.

"Another lie," she said, ignoring the blood that dripped from her wound.

"No," its voice was stronger as it seemed to feel her resolve falter. "He is here," it smiled. "He is almost always here."

The elf stopped circling the beast, taking its measure. She knew it would lie to save its life, the hissing wounds spoke that she had caused it great damage. No, it was only trying to distract her, bring her into another lie. Why, she did not know. But it did not matter. She needed to be free of this place, and soon.

Snarling, realizing it had failed, the thing lunged at the elf again, its claws digging into her shoulders. Gasping at the pain, Adela brought her daggers up, plunging them deeply into its chest. Twisting, she pulled them aside, tearing through skin and bone, opening the chest wide. Roaring in agony, the thing released the elf, and fell, convulsing to the ground. As it died, its features assumed Loghain's. Adela forced down the bile that rose, and then turned away as the body itself faded from view.

The garden had now vanished. And the elven Warden found herself standing in a vast gray emptiness. Her head hurt, as did her wounds. Digging into her pack, she pulled out one of Morrigan's healing potions, and drank it down in one gulp. Sneezing through the vile taste, she took stock of her situation. Grayness surrounded her. She turned. Ahead, she spotted a blue glow. Shrugging her shoulders, aware she had no other options, the elf headed in the direction of the glow.


	16. Chapter 16

_I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine - both the ivory and silver). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. _

_As always, thank you all for the reviews. mutive, Arsinoe de Blassenville. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum! And the alerts and favs - always a great boost!_

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 16_

DA:O

The endless gray surrounding her went on forever, never changing. Had the blue glow ahead not appear to be growing larger, the elf would never have known she moved at all.

Finally, she stood before the blue glow. It wasn't a doorway, more of a veil or a curtain through which she needed to pass. She could not see beyond it, to see what lay on the other side. But it was the only thing _different _in the great vastness. She felt certain that if she did not pass through this veil, she would forever traverse the endless nothing.

Gripping her daggers (she had to tell herself to relax, but she found her fear too great), she stepped through.

Blue lights dazzled her eyes, and she found herself standing in a courtyard of an ancient ruin. Surprised, she turned, taking in the features of the new environment. She did not recognize this place, nor the young man dressed in mage's robes standing to the side, watching her with great curiosity.

There was something familiar about the young man. His features were rather nondescript, being typical for a Fereldan man: brown hair, dark eyes, wide open face and narrow chin. Despite that, however, the elf was certain she had seen this man before, and fairly recently.

Still holding her blades before her, she approached the mage. He watched her approach carefully, almost seeming ready to bolt.

Speaking calmly, she introduced herself to the mage. He seemed to relax at her words and told her his name was Niall.

"Niall?" she asked, recognizing the name. "Are you the mage that took the Litany?"

Eyes widened, he nodded. "How did you know?"

"The tranquil, ahm…Owain, told us that you retrieved it." She grimaced, "I presume it must still be on your…body." she hesitated.

Eyes shifting to the surroundings, the mage nodded. "You are aware you are in the Fade, correct?"

Letting out a breath, the elf shrugged, "I had suspected, but I wasn't completely certain. I mean," she frowned, "I'm awake, as far as I know, right? I had heard that only mages can enter the Fade awake?"

"You are correct about the mages. However, I doubt you are fully awake. The demon," he grimaced in memory, "has kept a portion of your mind active so that it seems as though you are awake here in the Fade. That is how it draws power from you. Your activity here, trapped, 'feeds' it, until you finally die in the real world."

Frightened and concerned, she glanced around her. "Is there a way to find my companions?" She looked at the mage. "They must be here as they encountered the demon at the same time as I."

Niall frowned. "There may be a way; however, I have not been able to find it." He scratched his chin. "I went through the portal over there," he pointed to his right to a small blue curtain of shimmering light. "And found a mouse darting in and out of mouse holes. Perhaps you can learn how to move from one Fade portal to another, you may be able to find your friends." His frown intensified. "However, you may just as well resign yourself to the fact that you shall die here."

Giving him a look that told him clearly what she thought of that idea, Adela moved to the Fade portal, and walked through.

DA:O

The young elf leaned against the stone wall of the room. She had just defeated the final demon and felt that the domains where her friends were trapped were open. She ached, and was almost out of healing potions and poultices. She had met with four different souls trapped in the Fade, each of them teaching her a new shape to transform into in order to avoid the various traps within this part of the Fade: a mouse, a golem, Spirit and Burning Man. And, she had learned the name of her nemesis: Sloth.

She looked over to the Fade portal that had formed after the last demon, one of pride, had died. Pushing herself from the wall, she advanced, hoping that she was not too late to help her friends.

DA:O

The landscape was reminiscent of that at Lake Calenhad, the area the Sten had pointed out as where he and his fellow Qunari had battled the darkspawn. Frowning, staring at the blue sky, bluer waters and green trees, the elf followed the sound of the deep, male voices.

Sitting next to a small campfire were two heavily armed and armored Qunari warriors. She noticed that their features, while obviously Qunari, were blurred, undefined, as though the artist who painted them were unsure of how they truly looked. _Perhaps they appear this way because I don't know them_, the elf thought.

These two were joking, jovial, nudging each other while eating their meal. The third was a very familiar, stoic figure. The Sten turned toward her as she approached and she noted that this features were very well defined. _Could still be a trap_, she reminded herself as she cautiously stepped forward.

"Warden."

"Sten."

One of the Qunari turned to them. "Who's the little one?" he asked of the Sten. Ignoring his fellows, the Sten kept his attention firmly upon the small elf. She looked at the other two, who were watching her with mild interest.

"You are aware that we are in the Fade, right?" she informed the giant, thankful yet again for her meeting with the mage, Niall. She would never have guessed that was where she was if he hadn't told her.

The Qunari warrior nodded his massive head. "Indeed, Warden. I am aware. You may leave now."

Her brows shot up at that remark. "Leave?" she glanced around in confusion. "Not without you, Sten."

"Ha! This little one wants you to go with her, does she?" one of the other Qunari quipped. Adela looked at him, confusion on her face. _These others were nothing like Sten_!

The Sten merely scoffed at the Fade Qunari. "They are undisciplined."

"I thought all Qunari were disciplined."

The Sten stared at the elf. "Why are you here, Warden?"

"I'm here to rescue you, Sten."

"Pashaara!" a huge hand cut through the air. "I do not need to be rescued, Warden. Leave me in peace."

"You actually expect me to leave you here, Sten?" Adela asked disbelief in her voice, on her face.

"I have failed in my duty. Leave me here for atonement."

She stared at him for many moments, ignoring the joking and laughing of his fellows. _Did he really expect_…? "No," she took a step forward, glaring into his face. "You swore an oath to me, Sten, one sworn seeking proper atonement" she jabbed a slender finger into his chest. "If you break that oath where then is your honor?" She met his eyes, unflinching. The Sten growled deeply in his throat.

"You question my honor?" he demanded, glaring down at the much smaller elf.

"Yes," she glared right back, "If you break your oath to me, the oath you swore when I released you from that cage." She rose on her toes, maintaining eye contact. "The oath to end the Blight, to return to your country with the Arishok's answer to the question…"

"I know the question asked!" the Qunari roared.

"Then answer it!" the elf shot back hotly, not backing down, heat rising to her face. She hoped the huge man would not notice her hands were trembling.

The Qunari warrior stared down at the tiny elf, amazement on his stony face. Taking a deep breath, the warrior stepped back, backing down from the resolute elf. He nodded. "I will honor my oath to you, Warden and to the Arishok."

"Wait there," one of the other Qunari rose, his hand going to the greatsword strapped upon his back. "You can't go anywhere, especially not with that tiny thing."

"I go where I am needed," the Sten advised, almost impatiently. "I swore an oath."

The other warrior rose, his axe in his large hands. "Sorry, but we cannot allow you to leave us again, brother."

"We will need to fight them, Warden, in order to leave this place," the Sten calmly said as he pulled his Chasind greatsword from his back.

"Of course we do," Adela whispered sarcastically, drawing her daggers. The Sten glanced down at her before charging to meet the Qunari.

Brute strength against brute strength. That was how the Sten fought. His massive sword swung in, intercepting the swing of the axe wielding Qunari. Focusing his power, the Sten brought his sword up, altering its course to swing out to the side. The other could not bring his axe up quickly enough, and the Sten easily took his head off.

Adela ducked beneath the heavy swing from the greatsword, diving in and driving her daggers between the plates along her foe's stomach. The false Qunari growled out in pain and anger, drawing back on his sword for another swing. The heavy two handed style was not effective against an agile elf, and he found himself swinging at empty air as she danced around to his back. Bringing her hands together, she drove both daggers into his back, slipping into the overlapping plates, through the flesh beneath and into one large kidney. The Qunari howled in pain as the Sten's sword swung in, piercing through the plate and out through the chest. Gasping, the Qunari fell to his knees, and then flopped to his face.

Breathing heavily, Adela resheathed her weapons. "I hope they were not so easily dispatched in real life," she muttered, trying to catch her breath. The Sten merely scoffed at that notion.

"Let us leave," he demanded, putting his sword back in its scabbard. "Wait! What trickery is this!" he demanded as his form faded away.

"Damn!" Adela thought, kicking at the ground, watching as the trees, blue sky and bluer water of the Lake vanished, to be replaced by the grayness of the Fade. Searching, she found another familiar blue glow, indicating another section of the Fade. Scowling, deciding that she really hated the Fade, the elf stomped off in search of her other companions.

DA:O

Weariness threatened to overtake the elf as she continued her journey across the Fade. She hated it here; the endless gray landscape revealing no detail until almost upon a ledge or under a crag made her nerves more on edge than she already was. She had met and faced many demons since entering this part of the Fade, some taking on Loghain's form, others her family, still others made no attempt at subterfuge and merely attacked her on sight. She had numerous injuries detailing each battle. Her hands hurt, she had a headache, and her concern and worry for her friends nearly grounded her.

But it was for her friends and the knowledge that they had to get out of here that pushed her along, kept her feet moving. Because of the lack of distance, her bow was nearly useless here, so she had to rely upon her daggers. She grumbled, wishing she had allowed for more time with Leliana to further train in their use.

She faltered, bringing a hand to her forehead. This part of the Fade was very draining on her physical and mental resources. She had to consciously keep herself moving. She looked up, trying to discern anything - a path, a horizon, a ledge - but still was greeted with only gray fog and incomprehensible shallowness. She was surprised and alert immediately when a familiar figure emerged from the fog, staring down at her.

DA:O

Loghain blinked, staring down at the elven woman with clear disbelief in his eyes. But there she was, weary looking, dark circles under her eyes marring her fair skin. She was dressed in leather armor and holding her daggers - he recognized them as Adaia's daggers - tightly in her hands. He reached over to grasp her shoulders, but the elf backed up, her daggers up and ready to strike.

"Hold right there, demon!" she all but snarled. "Trying this trick again, are we?" she tilted her head. "Not too original now, are you?"

Realizing that he was unarmed and dressed only in trousers and a light shirt, Loghain stepped back, astonished by the hostility with which he was greeted. A realization that this was not Adela came to mind. After all, he had encountered many strange things here, not the least of which were demons posing as a more supplicant Adela.

He wondered why they would incarnate her as battle weary.

She was watching him, those fathomless blue eyes scrutinizing every move, ready to strike. He had told her once she was no warrior, but watching this Adela he doubted his words. She was battle weary and covered with numerous wounds, many still bleeding. The sight hurt him, even if he did not believe that this was his Adela. Despite that doubt, he spoke, "Adela, it is me, Loghain," his voice rasped out, as though he had not used it recently. He shook his head, trying to clear out the confusion that fogged him mind. It usually took him a while once he was here, but eventually his senses would return.

For now, his focus was on the elven woman before him.

"I know who you are _supposed _to resemble," the elf said, taking another step back, frowning severely at him. "But I've met other Loghains here as well. I could just kill you as I have the others."

Loghain stopped, listening to her voice, taking in the sorrow, the fear, the weariness that exuded from it. "How long have you been here?" he asked, for some reason feeling concern for this pseudo-Adela.

She shook her head, "I have no idea," her eyes looked up, seeming to try and pierce the gray veil about them. "A while." Her eyes closed, and she shook her head. "Too long," came the whispered reply.

_Never would I imagine her this way_, the man thought, staring at her. _The other…perhaps. But, not this. _Loghain knew where he was, in a portion of the Fade where he had been trapped, time and time again. His own little hell created by an unknown captor who would dig deeply into his mind and psyche and pull those elements he kept only to himself. Adela's image was one that was used more than any, more than his wife Cecile, more so than even Rowan. The one who had created this tiny corner just for him had also attempted using Maric's image once. But, those had always failed; the images of Adela, however, had always caught him, at least for a while.

_Perhaps they are changing their tactics_, he thought, continuing to watch the wary elf. A sense of sorrow came over him as he thought of her, dead on the field at Ostagar. _Too soon_, he thought, staring at her. And he had never been able to tell her…

"So," Adela spoke, breaking into his thoughts, "do we fight or can I just continue on my way?" She frowned, "Because if it's all the same to you, I would rather avoid a fight and just keep going."

A dark brow quirked up at that. Now _that _sounded like Adela. "Where are you going?" he asked, curious.

There was a tilt of her head, and he could see she was debating answering him. "I search for my companions. They are lost…" she swept her hand out "…here, somewhere. I keep running into resistance," her hand waved vaguely at him, "and I am certain they are in need of help."

The way this Adela spoke was more like the real one, even if the image of her did not fit. "Adela," he spoke her name, gaining her attention. She turned her face back to him, an inquisitive look upon her fair face. He reached a hand to her face and this time she did not jerk back or retreat. Her eyes fell closed for a moment, but shot open quickly before she allowed herself to relax against his hand. "I am sorry we never were able to speak after the battle." He watched as her eyes widened, and her hand reached up and took hold of his. She stepped forward, her blue eyes on his, searching…for what? He wanted to say more, started to, but then felt that familiar tug at his consciousness, the forceful pull that would rip him from _here _back to himself. With a growl, he fought against it, and Adela stepped back, wariness in her eyes. One final pull and Loghain was gone, the last sight of Adela's face being one of confusion and despair.

DA:O

She was shaking. The gray fog that permeated this part of the Fade had vanished as did the doppelganger of Loghain. Why was she shaking? She was tired, hungry, and afraid. And the only one of her companions, the Sten that she had been able to find and rescue from his current imprisonment had vanished.

And then to encounter a Loghain that was so very much like Loghain…She feared that too much longer here and the next time they tried to entrap her they may well succeed. She had to find the others, and quickly.

Resolutely, she forced strength through her limbs, and jogged away from the area.

DA:O

Tears rolled down her cheeks, dripping onto her clasped hands. Kneeling in the great chamber, among the bodies of the young, her white head bowed, Wynne prayed to the Maker, asking for deliverance, wanting an answer.

She heard the light footfalls approaching, but she did not look up from her misery to see. It didn't matter. Death would be most welcome to the elderly mage. Her eyes lifted and her vision skimmed over the bodies of the young apprentices - children she was sworn to protect. And, she had failed them. All of them dead.

Leather clad legs stepped to the mage's side. A voice, carrying its own sadness, called out to her, "Wynne?" the booted figure knelt, "Are you alright?" A small, concerned hand lay on her shoulder, squeezing it.

"Leave me be," the mage whispered, tears in her voice. "I have failed them." She looked up into the concerned face of the young elven Warden. "Why was I spared if not to protect them?" Her blue eyes, usually so sharp with wisdom, were pale with age and sorrow, "Leave me here to build their pyres, scatter their ashes and mourn their deaths." Her head drooped again to her chest. "And then I, too, shall die, and be grateful for that."

"Wynne," Adela spoke again, her voice low and soft, giving her shoulder a bit of a shake, "You are aware that we are in the Fade, right?"

The mage lifted her head, eyes narrowing at the elf. "I am a mage, am I not?" she asked indignant. "I would know if we were in the Fade!"

She glared at the elf when Adela shook her head, "Your grief, your fear, is making it difficult for you to see the truth," she sighed, her eyes skimming over the corpses. "Wynne," she turned back to the mage, "Please, think. Put aside your grief and fear and just think for a moment."

Wynne shook her head, a slender hand to her forehead. "Why do you persist?" Anger formed in her heart and her head snapped up. "And where were you! I trusted you as an ally and…and you were no where when this atrocity occurred!" The mage rose to her feet, looming over the smaller elf, her staff in her hand. "Have you no regard for the dead?"

With a sigh, the elf pushed herself to her feet. "Wynne, please," she tried again, putting up her hands in a placating manner, "just do whatever you mages do when you're in the Fade," she grimaced, "just look around, push aside the grief for a moment."

Pale blue eyes stared hard into the depths of Adela's eyes. "Alright, if it will make you feel better," the mage conceded, her eyes darkening in concentration. "I have always had…" she paused, frowning, "Wait. My mind is…unusually foggy." she shook her head, "I don't understand. I have always had an affinity to the Fade, yet now I cannot concentrate…"

The elven corpse rose, causing both women to jump back, "Please Wynne, don't leave us," it pleaded, the words erupting from torn lips.

"No, no!" Wynne shouted, raising hand and staff, "Get away foul demon!"

As the other corpses arose, each calling out Wynne's name and pleading, Adela spoke, "We have to defeat them, Wynne," the mage turned and noted the sad look in the elf's eyes. "It is the only way we will be able to leave this part of the Fade." Adela pulled her daggers out. "We still need to find Alistair."

Nodding the mage set about casting her spells, tossing one of rejuvenation upon the weary looking elven Warden. Adela moved gracefully, cutting into an apprentice that had raised his staff to throw a spell at her. Wynne closed her heart off, reminding herself that these were not the children she had sworn to protect; these were demons and needed to be destroyed.

A rock fist smashed one apprentice down, elven daggers cut the throat of another. Wynne cast healing spells upon the elf before turning and freezing another of the corpses. From the corner of her eye she saw Adela spin, her daggers back in their sheaths, her bow in hand. If she hadn't been pressed with a skeletal apprentice snarling in her face, the elderly mage would have been impressed with the rapid shooting the elf displayed as she took out the two skeletal archers on the rise.

Wynne smashed her staff into the face of the apprentice before her, staggering back from the impact, almost falling. A cry came to her lips as the thing grasped her by the throat, squeezing, leering into her face. Then the grip eased, and the apprentice-thing fell. Staggering upright, the elderly mage saw that Adela stood there, pulling her daggers free of the corpse. She saw the concern in the elf's eyes as she turned her attention back to the mage.

"Wynne, are you okay?" the elf stepped over, eyes skimming over her, searching for wounds. Appreciative of the honest concern she saw there, the woman shook her head. "More frightened than hurt, my dear," she replied in her warm tones, allowing a nervous chuckle the form. She placed a reassuring hand on the smaller woman's shoulder. "We must leave this place and find our missing Warden."

Adela nodded, obvious relief on her face. The room began to fade, taking on a grayness Wynne hadn't seen before. "Wait?" she was confused, and looked to the elf, who was fading from her sight. "Where are you going, Adela?" she moved forward, reaching for the startled elf. But, then, she was alone, Adela was gone.

DA:O

"Damn!" Adela cursed as Wynne vanished from her sight and her surroundings took on the familiar and hated gray nothingness. She bowed her head briefly, then lifted it to skim the horizon, looking for that blasted blue glow…ah, there it was. Sighing, keeping her bow in her hand, the elf began to trudge toward the glow, hoping that she would find Alistair soon.

DA:O

She found Alistair, standing in a garden, a small, neat cottage behind him. Children of various ages raced and played, giggling, laughing and shouting in the background. Alistair stood, speaking with a woman whose hair was the same color as his, but with the same blurred features of the other denizens of the Fade she had encountered. The children as well. She paused, frowning, at the three masculine figures that stood back, watching the scene. Those figures were distinct and she recognized: Duncan, Maric and Cailan. _Why would Alistair be envisioning them here?_

"Adela!" came Alistair's happy shout, and then she found herself scooped up into his arms, pulled tightly against him in a hug. "I was wondering where you were!" His happy amber eyes gazed down at her, his affection for her shining very clearly. "Don't you know that Goldanna has supper nearly ready?"

"Goldanna?" the elf asked, letting Alistair put her back down on the ground. The man took her hand in his and pulled her toward the cottage.

"Silly," he teased, tugging her hand. "My sister." He looked down at her. "The kids have been waiting for you to return." He sighed, happily, as his gazed swept over the playing children, settling upon the men it the back. "Of course, my father and brother kept telling me that you would arrive soon, but…" _Wait? Father? Brother_? The elf peered up at Alistair as he chattered away, glancing back at the dead kings. She almost wanted to slap herself in the head. _That's why Alistair had seemed so familiar when she first met him! _Now was not the time to discuss _that _little omission on her friend's part.

"Alistair," she said gently, pulling him from his rant.

The look he gave her nearly caused her heart to break. "Come on, Adela," he said, his voice softening as he turned, pulling her into his arms. "We can be one big happy family." He smiled, and the look of pure happiness she saw there made his handsome face just shine. "I have my brother and sister, my father, Duncan, and…" he bent his head down, so his words were only for her, "and you. The family I want."

The sting of tears formed behind her eyes, and she felt her face tremble. Alistair's dream was for a family. How did he grow up that this is what he would want the most? She looked away from him, toward Duncan and the kings. They each were watching her, and each nodded to her, Cailan with a wide grin on his face. The children's playing noises increased, and Goldanna scolded the children cheerfully to wash for supper. All the while, Alistair just gazed at her, holding her, wanting this so badly she could feel it.

And she had to break his dream. "Alistair…" she started, but he stopped her with a finger to her lips. "No, Adela, please, let me say something…" that wistful look on his face returned, but she couldn't let it remain.

"No, no, Alistair," she shook her head, pulling away from his grasp. She noticed that the others were watching more intently now, even the children had stopped their play. "This," she thrust her hand out, sweeping over the scene around them, "this is not real." She lifted her sad eyes to him, truly wishing she did not have to do this. "This is just a dream," she stepped forward, maintaining eye contact. "A dream you can never have."

"Wha…what?" he frowned, "No, Adela." He shook his head. "This is real, a family, just as I've always wanted. And, you, by my side, always," he bowed his head, "I lo…"

"No!" she shouted, pushing him back. "Alistair! Duncan, Maric and Cailan are _dead_!" She pointed to the men, who were now glaring at her. "They died, Alistair. And I don't…" Alistair was shaking his head, pleading with her as he stepped forward to take hold of her again. She backed off, "No, Alistair." her voice lowered but remained firm, "I don't love you." She shook her blonde head, "Not the way you want me to."

His face cracked, and his head bowed. "You could learn to," he said in a soft, broken voice.

Biting her lip, she stepped forward, keeping an eye on the demons that surrounded them, still watching. "Maybe," she admitted, wondering if she had just lied to him as she pressed a hand to his cheek and smiled at him when he raised his head. "But, not here and not now," she stated firmly. "This is not real, and we have to leave."

Alistair stood there for many moments. His pseudo-family remained impassive, still, as though awaiting a move or word from the quiet Warden. He raised his face to her, and although sadness remained, there was a determination as well. The demons masquerading as his family began to change and twist and the three men at the back pulled their weapons and advanced.

Sorrow in her heart, knowing how much it would hurt Alistair to have to kill these things, Adela pulled up her bow, notching an arrow, "Be ready, Alistair," she commanded, relief sweeping over her as the ex-Templar pulled his sword and shield from his back. An arrow flew, striking the false Duncan in the chest. Although she knew this was not real, it still hurt to have to fight - to kill - those who looked so much like men she had cared for in life. Alistair turned, a war cry issuing from his lips, as he smashed his shield into the face of his 'sister'.

The fake Duncan staggered, glowering at the arrow protruding from his chest. She let fly another, and then a third. A sob escaped her throat as she let loose a fourth arrow, this one embedding solidly in one eye. A raging inhuman roar issued from the not-Duncan's throat and it fell over, clutching at the offending arrow.

Alistair bashed and stabbed at the demon posing as his sister. It snarled at him and, his face grim and determined, he stabbed forward, his blade cutting through sternum, slicing upwards further, cleaving the monster. Its agony escaping its lips in a ragged snarl, it fell over, convulsing to the ground.

Adela spun, arrow already notched to bowstring, turning to face the image of Cailan bearing down upon her. This is not Cailan, she reminded herself, keeping her eyes from the enraged blue eyes of the fiend that dared take the face of her friend. Growling, she let the arrow loose, not even watching as it slammed into the creature's throat. She pulled another arrow, notching that and letting it fly, and another in rapid succession. The creature wearing Cailan's face continued onward, ignoring the arrows protruding from its chest, and it took a swipe at the small elf with the greatsword she recalled Cailan carrying into battle. She raised her bow, catching the heavy sword against it, twisting the blade away as she danced to the side. With a viscous yank, she let go of her bow, causing the Cailan double to stumble. She stepped aside, drawing her daggers, as the demon regained its balance and advanced upon her.

Alistair fought through the throng of demonic children, swiping each aside with great sweeps of his blade. He could see Adela battling the false Cailan, but a movement to his right caused him to turn. Just in time, he raised his shield to deflect the blow from Maric's longsword. Alistair stared for a moment into the reflection of his father. He knew this was not the man who had sired him, the one who had abandoned him as a babe, left to the care of another. And, yet…he felt that pang of regret and longing, and he had to fight hard against it, knowing that if he faltered he was doomed, and so was Adela. Hardening his heart, refusing to think of this creature before him as anything other than a demonic evil, he pushed against the creature with his shield, thrusting the creature away. With his war cry "For the Grey Wardens!" tumbling from his lips, he brought his shield back and then smashed if forcefully into the handsome, snarling face. The creature staggered back, swaying slightly, and Alistair brought his sword up and swung in an arc, hitting it again in the face with its pommel, and then twisting the blade to bring the blade itself sweeping across the fiend's neck. Foul air hissed from the wound, and the thing stumbled, tripping backwards, and Alistair took advantage and plunged his sword deep into the demon's chest. Kicking the creature from his blade, the Warden spun about, racing to finish off the Cailan duplicate.

The heavy greatsword swooped down at her; she barely danced aside, feeling the rush of air the weapon created in its passing. She didn't recall the real Cailan being this adept with the sword, but then she had never really seen him in a real fight. She doubted, however, that these doppelgangers mirrored the men's battle prowess as they did their appearance. Duncan's duplication, after all, had fallen very easily.

She stepped to the side, bending backwards to avoid another powerful sweep. She ducked and rolled under the blade, coming up to the side of the creature. She slashed out with one blade, trying to find a weakness in the ornamental gold armor the thing wore. There were no seems that she could find, no place to drive a dagger. She bent down at the waist, moving again beneath the blade, to the back. Ah ha! She jabbed her blade into the back of one knee. The thing lurched forward, loosing its balance. Another jab to the other knee, and it fell to the ground.

Alistair arrived, shouting at the Cailan-thing lying on the ground. In one fluid motion, his sword descended, easily swiping the head from its neck, sending it flying away.

They stood, breathing hard, trying hard not to look at the corpses that had yet to fade away with the cottage and cheery surroundings. Then Alistair moved, gathering Adela into his arms, holding her tightly. She returned the hug. He started babbling an apology to her and she shook her head, pushing him away enough so that she could look into his face. "Alistair, not now," she gave him a small smile. "Later, we'll talk. Now we have to get out of here."

He nodded, releasing her, rubbing his hand over his short hair. "Okay, so now what do we do?"

She was biting her lip, watching him closely. "Well, if this follows true to form, you will disappear and then I'll probably end up having to find you all again."

"What?" he asked incredulity overriding sadness in his voice. And, as before, the cottage and surroundings faded to gray, and Alistair, with a final cry out to Adela, vanished as well.

Adela hung her head, her eyes closed, fighting the tears. Will this never end? She wondered. Raising her head, she gasped in surprise.

The grayness remained, but instead of an empty landscape she was surrounded by veins of lyrium jutting from the gray ground, and ahead stood a tall figure, reminiscent of the demon they had encountered back in the Tower. She was shaking, but resolved. Hoping this was not a battle she had to endure on her own, she approached the creature.

DA:O

It had promised to make her happy; it had promised to give her everything she desired. Wynne scoffed, telling the demon that they would not be swayed; the Sten stoically faced the creature and said not a word; and Alistair merely quipped about how stifling hot the countryside had been and so not thank you. Adela smiled, replying that her happiness could only be found in the real world and not some fantasy derived from avoiding life. The thing sneered at her and raised a hand. And a bolt of cold lightening struck it from another corner. Adela turned and there was Niall, fire in his eyes as he began casting his spells. Wynne's voice joined in and the Sten and Alistair rushed forward, each striking at the Sloth demon.

Adela danced back and away, scooping up a handful of gray dirt and tossed it into the demon's eyes. Snarling, momentarily blinded, the two warriors were able to gain significant hits. She could feel the buzz in the air as the mages cast their spells, causing further injury to the monstrosity. The elf ran to the back of the thing, stabbing it as she made her way there. The creature's form blurred and vanished, to be replaced with another, larger form. Three times the thing changed, three times the Wardens and their companions defeated it. Then, as its final reincarnation vanished, the five of them stood, standing in the field of gray and lyrium. Niall, breathing hard, had a smile on his face.

"Well," he said, the smile in his voice, "That was invigorating." He turned to Adela, his face becoming firm. "Now, you must awaken and remove the Litany from my…body." his head drooped slightly at that.

"Body?" Adela questioned, stepping toward the mage who had helped her through the Fade. "What do you mean?"

The young mage shook his head. "I've been here too long," he replied, lifting his head, looking into her eyes. "The demon was feeding off my life energy to fuel the dreams of you and your friends," he frowned. "I doubt there is much left of me…"

"No," she said firmly, grasping his arm. "I don't believe that. We will heal you, Niall. You've done too much for the Circle and the mages to just be left to die."

He smiled at her, this elf who was a stranger but also a friend. "Thank you, my friend." He looked at Wynne, who was watching him with kind eyes. "You should be prepared to use the Litany against Uldred. He is a blood mage, Wynne. He is the one who summoned the demons and caused the abominations." The elder mage nodded; she had suspected as much.

"Now, my friend," he placed his hands on Adela's shoulders. "All you have to do now is wake up."

DA:O

The four awakened by the body of the abomination that had hosted the Sloth demon. Next to it, lay an unconscious (but still alive) Niall. Adela sent a pleading look to Wynne, who merely nodded as she stepped beside the young man's body. She began casting, a deep, penetrating blue light erupting from her hands. Adela noted the frown on the older woman's face, but saw here, too, determination. "It shall take some time," Wynne gritted out from between her teeth as the casting began to take more power from her.

"Take the time you need, Wynne," Adela said, determined that this man's bravery not be rewarded with death. She knew the Sten was looking at her disapprovingly, but she did not care. He had pledged to follow her lead; if he did not like where she led, he was free to go. She was determined not to become so hardened that one life meant nothing to her.

Wynne's efforts took the better part of an hour. Although not completely healed, the young mage now slept in a natural sleep. Alistair and the Sten had cleared out an adjacent room and carefully placed the young man within. Wynne cast a glyph on the doorway, offering the slumbering man a modicum of protection.

The group passed through several hallways, fighting a few straggling abominations. At the foot of a flight of stairs (Wynne told them that they led to the Harrowing chamber), they found a young Templar knight, kneeling in prayer. Surrounding him was a nimbus of white light, obviously a cage of some kind.

The young man looked up, noticing the small group before his cage. He murmured something about not falling for more of the demons' tricks. His eyes, glazed from lack of sleep and worry, settled upon Adela's face for a moment, and his face crinkled in thought. Shaking his head, he rose, demanding to know what they wanted.

"Calm yourself, Cullen," Wynne spoke in soothing tones, stepping forward. "The Wardens are here to help."

"Help?" the young man - Cullen - croaked out in disbelief. "There is no hope. The mages…" his voice faltered. "He's torturing them. Making them change, into those abominations." His eyes hardened, and he glared at Adela. "You have to stop them! Stop them all!" A gauntleted fist punched at the barrier, and a spark flared.

Staring at the ruin of the chamber they stood in, Adela turned back to the Templar. "Don't worry," she assured him, "We will stop Uldred."

"You have to stop them all!" he insisted, his mind obviously close to breaking, the pain of what he had endured and seen too fresh for him to deal with. "Kill all of the mages!"

Shocked, the elf stepped back, bumping into Alistair, who placed a hand on her shoulder. "No," she said with a shake of her head. "I'll not kill everyone up there." She frowned, staring at the enraged Templar, very glad he was in his cage. "I will not have the blood of innocents on my hands!"

"Innocents?" the Templar raged, rushing at the barrier, pounding at it to escape. "Mages are not innocent! They are abominations, waiting release! They must all be destroyed!"

"Cullen…" Wynne began, but the Templar cut her off with a snarl, and began pacing his cage.

Seeing he was too far gone at this point, knowing that he would not - could not - comprehend, Adela began leading her group up the stairs. She turned as she felt his eyes upon her back. "Be well, Cullen," she said quietly as the Sten and Alistair passed her on the steps. "We'll finish this and come back to help you."

His eyes, a reddish brown, stared into her for a moment, and then, with another cry of rage, he turned away, and resumed his pacing.

With a sigh, the elf turned and watched as the Sten pushed open the heavy doors.

DA:O

The smell of fear, human waste, and lyrium assaulted Adela's senses. Standing in the center of it was a smug mage, one she recalled from the meeting she attended at Ostagar. So this was Uldred? She thought. She recalled his arrogance at the meeting, the sneering looks he had tossed her way. Some how, she was not surprised that he was the one responsible for the destruction and death at the tower.

He had actually thought she would want to become one of those things? Was he mad? _Well_, she took a look at his face and thought, _actually, he is_. She calmly pulled her daggers, and she heard the Sten pull his massive sword and Alistair set his blade and shield before him. Uldred continued to rant and Adela reminded Wynne to make use of the Litany. The mage nodded and, without another word, the three charged at the mage before he could come back to any semblance of coherency.

The bald mage snarled at the warriors and elf, crying out in the ancient Arcanum of the Tevinter Imperium. His form changed, grew, and all semblances of humanity vanished, leaving in its stead a huge, ogre-like creature with bladed arms. The Sten and Alistair continued their assault with blades and shields; Wynne kept both warriors on their feet by casting healing and rejuvenation spells. Adela, dancing behind the mage-turned-abomination felt a sudden chill to the air. Wynne cried out a warning, and then Adela heard the elderly mage's voice lift up in song, singing from the scroll she held in her hands. The chill vanished with a burst, and she heard the Uldred-monster snarl, trying to swipe at the annoyingly efficient mage. Wynne, with agility that belied her age, dashed away from the huge hand, and ran to where a group of stunned mages lay.

The thing was huge. Adela concentrated on bringing it down, and so stabbed continually at the backs of its knees and ankles. It would swipe out as though to swat at an annoying gnat and the elf would simply dance out of its reach. When it was distracted, the Sten and Alistair would push their assaults harder, digging their blades deeply into muscled chest, stomach and thighs. When it would turn its attention back to the men, the elf would dash back in, resuming her stabbing assault.

And so it continued; every now and again Wynne would need to sing out the Litany, and the mages continued to lie on the floor, each in a stupor of some kind. Adela's arms ached, and then she would feel one of Wynne's rejuvenating spells wash over her with a cool heat.

Uldred bled for numerous wounds, the Sten and Alistair managing to deal it many serious wounds. A fisted rock spell cast from Wynne finally toppled the beast over, and Alistair stabbed at its neck with his blade. The Sten, snarling in his native language, took a running charge and drove his greatsword deeply into the abomination's chest. Pushing at it with arm and hip, the Qunari drove it deeper and upwards, slicing into the great heart behind the massive ribcage. Blood spurted from the jugular Alistair had severed and, with a great sighing groan, the abomination lay still. Wynne cast a quick healing spell over the two men, and then turned her attention to the mages.

One of the mages, an elderly man with a great, bristling beard of gray and white, rose unsteadily to his feet. "Ah, Wynne," he spoke in a gravely, deliberate voice. "I see we have you to thank for our rescue."

Wynne smiled graciously, then pulled Adela closer with a friendly hand. "Oh, I don't know, Irving," her warm voice met his with obvious amusement. "I had some help you see." She nudged Adela affectionately, turning her eyes to encompass Alistair and the Sten, both of whom were walking - Alistair with a slight limp - over to the group.

"And, so I see," the man's gray eyes settled upon Adela. "And whom do we have to thank for such a timely rescue?"

Bowing slightly, Adela introduced herself and the others. "Gray Wardens?" Irving asked a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Ah, so it is a Blight after all?" Adela and Alistair both nodded. "Then you are here to see to it that the Circle honors it's obligations to the Wardens." Again they nodded. A knowing smile crossed the man's face. "And, of course, you shall have it." He grunted, taking a small, unsteady step forward. Alistair gripped the older man's arm and Irving gave him a thankful look. The other mages rose unsteadily to their feet as well. Adela was pleased to see that so many had survived. The look of relief upon Wynne's face said much the same thing. The elderly mage turned her smile to the young elf.

"Thank you, my dear," she whispered as the two followed Irving, Alistair and the Sten from the chambers. "I am so pleased that the Maker saw fit to send you our way."

Adela accepted the praised with a bow of her head. "I came here for the Circle's help, Wynne," the elf reminded her. "I'm just glad that we were able to help out."

"The Circle owes you much, Warden," Irving had called from the front of the group as they made their way down the stairs. "And we will see to it that our obligation is met."

DA:O

The group gathered Cullen (who stared suspiciously at Irving's back) and Niall (who had awakened and, with the Sten's assistance was able to walk), and walked slowly down to the ground level where awaited Gregoir and his Templars. The rest of their group followed quietly, although they were curious as to what had happened, they knew they would have to wait until they were away from the Tower before their questions would be answered.

Adela could not shake the anger she felt toward the Knight-Commander. It had taken their small group of four (along with the four they left to guard the children) to defeat the evil that had swept through the tower. The Templars, who were trained to combat magic and abominations, and far more numerous, could have easily taken care of the evil within, and without the need to kill every living soul they encountered. The Knight-Commander had seemed genuinely relieved to see Irving alive, and had reprimanded the still exhausted Cullen when he had spoken against the First Enchanter. Still, looking at the older Templar, Adela could not shake the dislike she had for him. He had been far to willing to destroy all of the life within the tower, as though the life of a mage was not worth fighting for. She felt he was abominable himself and a coward, and she held no respect for him or his station.

Her thoughts turned back to her companions as she heard Wynne speak with Irving, requesting permission to go with the Wardens. Her dark mood brightened. Morrigan was a wonderful mage for damaging things, but she was no healer, at all, on any level. And while Adela was a fine non-magical healer, having a mage who could just cast a spell while in battle and keep the combatants on their feet was definitely an advantage. Both of the Circle mages turned to the elf, and she quickly gave her assent for the elder mage to join them. Adela pointedly ignored Morrigan's scoff at that.

With final farewells, and a promise from Irving to be ready when they were needed, the group left the Tower. Adela was very much looking forward to a night sleeping in a bed, and a hot bath.


	17. Chapter 17

_I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine - both the ivory and silver). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. _

_As always, thank you all for the reviews. zevgirl, mutive, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Biff McLaughlin, celtic-twinkle, Windchime68. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum! And the alerts and favs - always a great boost! And a special thanks to Windchime68 - I had been having the devil of a time with this chapter, but talking back and forth helped me fix it. I hope this chapter reads well…_

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 17_

He gasped, breaths coming in deep gusts as he pushed himself up. His heart beat too quickly and blood pounded in his ears. Blue eyes opened looked around; back in familiar chambers at the palace, his chambers he realized, bringing a hand to his aching head. The last visit to the Fade had been wearing on him. He could not shake the feeling that the Adela he had encountered therein was, somehow and impossibly the real Adela.

Black hair fell in his face as he bowed his head, strands catching in long eyelashes. _How could that be?_ He recalled vividly Cauthrien and Howe speaking when they had thought him unconscious. The Wardens - Duncan, Adela, that huge barbarian, the bastard - had all died at Ostagar. As had Cailan. An anguished groan escaped his lips as he thought of his son-in-law, Maric's eldest son. The boy could be reckless, at times foolish, but he had been a good king, a good husband to Anora, and a better man than his father had been. And now he lay dead amongst the filth of the darkspawn. Usually pragmatic and realistic, the man avoided any thought of _her _laying dead on the field. The man growled deep in his throat, wanting nothing more than to throttle the life from Howe's body. And Cauthrien! How could she betray Fereldan, her king…him?

What plans did they have for him today, he wondered as his eyes skimmed around the room, taking in the neat appearance, everything as it should be. Save for his armor and weapons; these were no where to be seen. His captors had taken precautions for these few periods of lucidity they allowed him. A scowl formed across his face, eyes narrowing in anger. They were using him as some kind of puppet, but to what end? He had no recollection of those times that occurred between his few waking periods and the sojourns into the Fade. He was aware that his visits to the Fade were occurring with more frequency, and that disturbed him greatly. There were no remembrances of interacting with his daughter, of even seeing her since his return from that ill fated battle. He recalled only a handful of times actually speaking with Howe and Cauthrien, and those conversations had been less than revealing. Other memories were foggy, disjointed, as though merely memories of something spoken of and not experienced. He had no idea how the war against the darkspawn was progressing.

Snarling, throwing aside the bedcovers, the Teryn rose unsteadily to his feet, a lightheadedness overtaking him. He stumbled, catching hold of one of the bed posts, glancing down at himself, noticing he was wearing only light trousers and a linen shirt. A hand went to his stomach and he realized he was very hungry. He obviously was not eating as frequently as he should. Crossing to the mirror that hung on the wall, he carefully examined his features. Cold, tired blue eyes stared back, ringed heavily with dark circles. There were more lines on his face than he recalled, the frown furrow between his brows more defined, his cheeks almost hallow, the hint of overnight stubble on his face. Never one for vanity, Loghain could not help but notice how much older he looked. With a start, he realized he had no sense of time, no idea how long ago Ostagar had been.

He turned. There were footsteps at his door, and he heard a key sliding into the lock. Moving quickly, the warrior stepped to the side of the doorway, prepared to grapple whoever entered his chambers. As the door swung open, Loghain moved with it, keeping behind it but moving toward the figure that entered. Rounding the corner, he reached out to grab hold of the intruder…

And was instantly frozen in place. Ice, colder than the middle of winter, crept into his bones, chilling his very core. Incensed, the Teryn looked up, into eyes the color of blood set in a face startling in its familiarity. Snarling out his rage, he tried again to lunge, to will his hands to move around that throat, but as the words spilled from the intruder's mouth, he found only oblivion.

DA:O

Water splashed lazily in tiny whirlpools as the washcloth dipped back down. A happy sigh escaped the elf's full lips as she brought it up to wash her face. Ah…a real bath! In a real tub! Full of real hot water! It had been the first thing she did upon entering the inn and renting the inn's full compliment of rooms…order a hot bath be brought to her room. While the others ate a hearty meal downstairs, Adela indulged in a good, old fashioned soak.

She decided that of all of the things she missed from the Alienage (other than the people) - from home - a real bath was at the very top of her list.

She tried not to think of what had happened during their visit to the Circle. She tried very hard to ignore the events surrounding their visit into the Fade. Hard as she could, she tried not to believe that the last incarnation of Loghain had been real.

All she wanted to think of was the heat of the water soaking into her pores, drenching down into her very soul. Clean skin; clean hair…the water was dirty but she still did not really care. The water was still hot and she was loathe to leave it.

A final dunk, a final rinse of her hair, and she decided that now the water was, indeed, too dirty to remain. Maybe she'd indulge in another bath tomorrow before they left….

With a contended sigh, she rose, picking up the drying towel, and stepped out onto the rug. Wrapping herself in the towel, she moved slowly to the bed - a real, double bed! She picked up the clothing she had set out before stepping into the tub. Drying off, wrapping her long hair in the towel, she quickly dressed in soft trousers and a light shirt. She tilted her head back, feeling her damp hair swing down her back. The muscles in her neck felt loose thanks to the bath. Picking up the towel, she sat at the end of the bed and began to towel dry her long hair.

There was a rap at her door, and then a second. She called out for whoever was at the door to enter, and in walked Alistair, carrying a tray laden with food. He grinned over at her and she returned the grin, pointing to the table by the door.

"Nice room," he commented as he placed the food down. He, too, had obviously partaken of a bath; his hair was damp and his face had a certain clean rosiness to it. "I bring my lady shepherd's pie,' he gestured grandly to the food.

"Oh!" she sighed, tossing the towel to the floor and going over to the table, the smell of lamb, potatoes and gravy assailing her nostrils. "This is my favorite!" she exclaimed as she picked up a dish and started spooning the food onto it. Grinning, Alistair helped himself to some food and then sat down next to the elf.

They ate in companionable silence for several minutes, Adela happily engaged in eating the wonderful meal while Alistair kept casting small sidelong glances in her direction. Finally, she put her spoon down and looked at him.

"Okay, Alistair," she said calmly, placing a hand on his arm. "I know you want to talk to me. Am I to guess its dinner theatre?" She waggled her brows at him, and was rewarded with a smile.

"Oh, good one," he poked her in the side. "I see my own marvelous sense of humor is rubbing off on you."

Quirking a slight smirk at him, the elf drawled, "Oh, yes. Next you know I'll be talking endlessly about my hair…" she said this with a toss of her head, her hand running along the length of her damp tresses.

The young man chuckled, a slight flush on his cheeks. "Really, Alistair," Adela continued, "if you wish to talk, I am more than willing to listen."

It was with a heavy sigh that Alistair put down his fork and sat back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. Adela remained quiet, letting him gather his thoughts. "I really haven't told you much about myself, have I?" he asked her quietly, his amber eyes searching her face. She shook her head. The only thing he had told her was that he had been training as a Templar and Duncan recruited him prior to taking his vows. "Well, let's see…I'm a bastard," his eyes went to her grin, "no funny remarks about that one, missy," he scolded. "I was taken in and raised by Arl Eamon," Adela's eyes widened at that. "He took me in and raised me. He didn't have to, but he did." His face fell slightly. "He was good to me. Better than my own father." His sidelong glance to Adela told him he had her attention.

"Maric," the elf offered. Alistair nodded. The grin returned to her face. "Sooo…you're not just a bastard by a royal bastard." She'd been saving that one since the Fade.

Alistair's eyes widened and his face broke into a wide grin. "Oh, ha ha!" he quipped, then, with a thoughtful expression, said, "You know, that's not half bad." He laughed. "I'll have to remember that one!"

Adela laughed along with him, glad to hear the sound from him. "Okay, so Maric was your father, and Arl Eamon raised you," she prompted, "how in the world did you end up at the Chantry ready to take your vows as a Templar?"

"Eamon married a young woman from Orlais," Adela's face darkened at that. "She heard the rumors that pegged me as Eamon's and she wasn't happy about that. So, when she became pregnant with their son, she insisted that there was no room for me, and so off to the Chantry I was packed." His voice broke there, and Adela moved over to him, putting her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. The young man greatly appreciated it and, with a pat to her arm, continued. "I was so angry when he told me. I remember I had an amulet of Andraste, the only thing I had of my mother's. I was so angry that I tore it off and threw it at a wall. It shattered," he sighed, head drooping. "It was such a stupid thing to do." He looked up. "My mother was a servant at Redcliffe. She died giving birth to me. It had been the only thing I had of hers."

"Alistair," Adela breathed, now completely understanding his dream in the Fade. Her forehead rested on his. "I am so sorry, my friend," she kissed him softly on the cheek. "I had no idea…"

"No one knew," Alistair said, turning his face towards hers, their faces just inches apart. "Duncan was the only Grey Warden who knew, and even he treated me differently. He kept me out of the battle."

Adela shook her head, moving away from him a bit. "No, Alistair. That was Cailan," Alistair's eyebrow rose. "It's true. He had insisted that you accompany me. It was Loghain's idea that I go to the tower, and Cailan added the condition that you go as well." She was biting her lip. "He knew, didn't he?"

Shrugging Alistair replied, "I guess. I don't know. It's not like Cailan and I ever spoke, you know."

But the elf was getting angry, angry and disappointed at her friend, Cailan. Of course he knew! Why else would he insist Alistair be kept out of the battle? She reached a hand up and brushed it through Alistair's hair. "Alistair?" she peered into his face, and he looked at her. "I know it's not the same, not really, but we're a family, you and I." She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling at him. "We're the only Grey Wardens left in Fereldan."

He nodded, accepting and appreciating her words. With a sigh, he replied, "Well, it's not like it does any good, my being Maric's son and all," he smiled at the confused expression upon Adela's face. "I'm a commoner; it's been made very clear to me since I was a child that I'm nobody and have no claim to the throne or the Therein name…"

"That's not true, Alistair," Adela spoke, trying hard to keep the irritation she felt toward Maric and Cailan, and everyone else who had kept Alistair under heel, from her voice. "Just because your mother was a commoner does not mean you are." she poked a finger at him. "You have noble - no, royal blood in your veins. That Maric and Cailan, for whatever reason, decided not to acknowledge you is moot. You have as much right to the Therein name as they did." She was frowning deeply as she spoke.

"I don't want the throne," the young man protested, amazed that Adela was so upset and that that anger was directed at someone he knew had been a friend.

"So?" she quipped, "don't take the throne. Anora's a good ruler anyway. However," she looked him in the eyes, "don't ever let anyone tell you that you are less than you are. I don't know why they kept you hidden, told you that you were nothing, but they were wrong to do so." She chucked her hand under his chin, causing him to smile. "Don't ever forget that!"

Grateful for this friend, the young man nodded, pulling her in for a hug.

"You still should have told me, you know," she scolded as she pulled herself from the hold.

"I know, I know," he conceded. "It's just that when people do find out they start treating me differently. I just didn't want you to do that," he looked imploringly in her eyes. "I was hoping that you would like me for who I was, well, before you found out who I was." Adela laughed and Alistair groaned at how awful that sounded. "Argh! You know what I mean!"

Laughing, she put her arms around him again, pulling him in for a hug. "Yes, yes, I know, I know." Then she pushed him back, looking sternly into his eyes. "But, I'm warning you now, the next time you call me _Commander_, be prepared to be called _My Prince_!"

And while Alistair thought he liked how that sounded coming from Adela's lips, he acquiesced with a grin.

DA:O

A short time later, the two Wardens walked downstairs and found that their companions were still in the common room. The Sten sat quietly, contentedly munching on a plateful of cookies. Every now and again the stoic warrior would toss one to a patiently waiting Hafter. Roland sat at the bar with a tankard in hand talking with the inn keeper. Wynne sat in a corner darning what appeared to be Alistair's socks (the elderly mage lifted her hand and nodded in greeting), while Leliana sat next to Morrigan, chatting about hair and fashion, make up and shoes. Morrigan looked vaguely uncomfortable, but remained seated, adding few words to the conversation. The Orlesian would touch the witch's arm every now and again, a happy smile on her face.

"What," Alistair turned Adela's attention to the two women, "is going on there?" His face crinkled with confusion. "I would have thought Morrigan would, you know, " he wiggled his fingers at her, "get all witchy on her."

Grinning, she pulled her friend over to the bar. "Our lovely Orlesian has a thing for our beautiful witch," she whispered in Alistair's ear as the inn keep approached. Alistair suppressed a giggle that arose in his throat as the elf's words sent hot breath to swirl on his ear and neck.

"Really?" he glanced back at the two women. Apparently Leliana had said something that had gotten the witch's attention as Morrigan had bent her head forward, gesturing with her hands. "Huh," he turned back to Adela. "Interesting."

Adela giggled, turning to ask the inn keep for a cup of water. "Interesting?" the elf shook her head. "I think I may have been too sheltered," she admitted as she sat down, smiling over at Roland as he moved closer to the pair. "But I never realized…" she let it drop off, an embarrassed flush rising to her cheeks.

Chuckling, Roland smiled at the elf. "You would be surprised, Adela," he glanced over at the two women, who were now smiling and laughing. "I have known a few women who prefer women, and more than a few men who preferred the company of men." He grimaced slightly, taking a quick sip of his ale. "Myself? I have never seen the attraction," he glanced at the pretty elf, a small smile on his handsome face. "as I have always appreciated the grace of a pretty lady myself."

The flush on Adela's face deepened a bit, and she averted her eyes, looking into her cup, shaking her head slightly. Alistair just gave the knight a quick look, frowning. If Roland noticed the warning look the Warden gave him, he made no sign of it.

Alistair turned to the tankard of ale the inn keep placed in front of him, frowning deeply into the cup. What he really did not need or want was more competition for the pretty elf's attentions.

DA:O

They left the Spoiled Princess the next morning to bright sunshine and a cool breeze. It was late autumn, but the cold air had not settled in yet, making walking comfortable and pleasant. Adela had tried to gain passage on the ferry, but the inn keep had informed her that the ferryman had recently passed on, and no one had taken up his route yet. The forlorn look on the elf's face as she stared over the water almost - _almost _- made the young Warden by her side laugh. Had he not known how much the ride would have meant to the small woman, he just may have. Well, okay, there was a tiny chuckle that had escaped, but, really! She looked too cute, standing there, pouting out over the water. It wasn't his fault. Ah, but the glare she sent his way…only made him chuckle more.

And so, Alistair walked beside Adela, every now and again teasing her about the boat. Roland followed closely behind, adding his own clever remark to Alistair's teasing. Hafter walked beside the knight (the hound had taken a liking to the knight; perhaps it was the jerky he'd toss to him every now and again), at times bounding off into the brush after something. The women walked in the center, Leliana trying to convince Morrigan to wear her hair differently; Morrigan tossing snide little comments back at the Orlesian; all while Wynne just rolled her eyes at the younger women. The Sten, as always, took up the rear, his lavender eyes ever alert for danger. The bronze giant didn't seem to think anyone noticed when he'd reach into a pocket and pull out a cookie to munch.

They walked like this for hours. Alistair thoroughly enjoyed it.

Glancing down at his companion, Alistair, again, replayed in his mind their conversation about his heritage. There was a certain relief in telling Adela about his father - of course, after her encountering him in the Fade with his 'family' he rather felt he had to. But her reaction had not been what he had expected. He had expected indignation that he had not told her, a bit of fawning, perhaps, since he was the last Therein (that anyone knew of he reminded himself. After all, if Maric had one dalliance, could he not have had others?). But that she would be angered that no one had parented him, disappointed that Maric had abandoned him and Cailan never acknowledged him? That surprised him. Especially when he thought of her years-long friendship with Cailan: Shouldn't she have defended Cailan in some manner, made up an excuse on his behalf?

And, there was a small part of him wondered if Loghain knew and if Adela would feel the same anger toward him as she did Cailan? That very same maybe not quite so small part of him hoped she would. Just, whittle away a bit at whatever feelings she had for the treacherous Teryn so that she could see the truth and perhaps…well, those kinds of thoughts were best left for another time.

Taking himself out of his mind, he looked around a bit at the scenery, taking in the environment their very strange little group was traversing through.

It had been over a decade since he had left Redcliffe. Not much of the surrounding countryside had changed. Still full of farmlands and fields, trees and, well, not much else. Just peaceful, beautiful and empty. How he had missed it.

Small pebbles skittered by his feet, skipping up and over the armored toes of his boots. He glanced over to see his fellow Warden kicking at the dirt, causing tiny wakes of pebbles to scatter away.

"Still pouting over the boat ride?" he teased, bumping into her with his hip. His brows quirked up, as did the corners of his mouth, when she shot a blue eyed glare his way.

"Can't believe the silly boat man didn't have a back up," she groused, again kicking the stones. Alistair heard Roland chuckle behind them, and he looked over his shoulder and shot the man a wide grin.

The knight reached over and gently patted the elf's shoulder. "There, there, Adela," he moved closer, teasing her, "I am certain that you will have ample opportunity to ride a boat before this adventure is over."

Alistair was very happy to see that that little remark earned the red haired knight an even deeper glare.

Adela mumbled something under her breath, kicking at the ground again.

"You will wear out the soles of your boots, young lady," came the admonishment from Wynne further back. The young elf merely rolled her eyes, grumbling again.

"What?" Alistair bent down, hand to ear, "What did you just say?"

Her head snapped up, "You," she poked him in the chest, "and you," she turned to include Roland in her current glare, "can both just go and…and soak your heads!"

With that, the perturbed elf marched ahead of them. The two men looked at each other, and then burst into laughter, hastening to follow after their leader.

DA:O

"Ah, and you are certain that they were Grey Wardens, no?" the smooth, heavily accented voice purred as the golden haired elf held a packet of coin just over the man's hand. Nodding anxiously, glancing back toward the back door to the inn, the human man licked his lips.

"The elf and one o' the men with her for certain," he muttered, eyes going back to the pouch with greedy intent.

"Hmm…." the elf tapped a finger to his chin, watching the man closely. "And, the direction in which they are now traveling is…?" he prompted, giving the pouch a gentle shake, sending the coin within jingling.

"Oi, toward Redcliffe, ser," he crooned, wiping a hand through his stringy black hair. "Left at daybreak just yesterday, followin' the road directly." He waved a hand to the south, indicating the road that would take them to Redcliffe.

Keen eyes moved in the direction the man indicated. His companion, a pretty human woman with dark eyes, smirked at him. The elf avoided rolling his eyes at her. _So predictable_, he thought. _Amateurs_.

"Ah, then, very well," he said as he dropped the pouch into the man's outstretched hand, making as though to turn away. "I do believe you have well earned these." He suddenly spun, catching the man under the chin, his tawny eyes holding the human's. "However, I should hope not to hear of this on my way to visit with my friends. The surprise, well, it would be ruined, would it not?" The human nodded, eyes filled with fear, knowing well what would happen to him should word of their inquiries reach the ears of their…friends.

The elf released him. He wanted to kill the man, but knew he had worked as a Crow informer and was always reliable. Still, it did not hurt to instill a bit of fear into the wormy little man's heart.

Stepping to the woman's side, he smirked, knowing the human would be listening. "Well, I believe if we hurry, we may well catch up with our friends the day after tomorrow." He placed a hand over his heart as they jogged away from the inn. "I so do love reunions."

DA:O

They managed to cover a lot of ground that first day from the Tower. Darkness had not completely fallen when the Wardens decided to set up camp. Because of their incessant teasing, Adela assigned Alistair and Roland to setting up her tent as well as theirs (they had managed to acquire camping supplies for both Roland and Wynne at the inn). Feigning contrition (and hiding their grins to each other from the elf), both men set about making camp.

While camp was being set up, Adela had ventured into the woods, setting snares with the hope of catching a rabbit or two. She was pleased that the group, on the whole, was getting along well. Oh, for certain, Morrigan continued to throw nasty little comments Alistair's way, but the witch was spending more time with Leliana (Adela thought it was more the talk of fashion than any romantic notion the Orlesian had), so those comments had dropped considerably. She thought she had even seen a small (very small) smile cross the Sten's stern face now and again.

A frown now crossed her face as she busily twisted the rope to the snare, making certain it was set. She had a concern, and needed to speak with someone about it. She glanced back toward camp. There was no way she could speak with Alistair, despite his being her closest friend. Besides, this issue was decidedly female in nature, so there was no way she could possibly speak with any of the men.

Leliana would be a good option, but sometimes the Orlesian girl just seemed too frivolous to bring such matters to. And, she honestly could do without the scorn she was certain Morrigan would throw her way. Oh, she had no doubt the witch would help her, after all, they were becoming friends for all the surliness the human woman displayed. But, the witch still had an incomprehensible lack of compassion for others.

No, Adela decided, she needed to speak with Wynne. Of everyone here, she would be the one to address her concern without becoming overbearingly protective (as Alistair would) or overwhelmingly caustic (as Morrigan).

The last snare set, the elf walked back to the camp.

DA:O

Worry and nervousness churned in her stomach, the desire to vomit was very strong. She could not believe she had not noticed earlier. But, she supposed with the flight from Denerim and then Ostagar and everything else they had been dealing with these past couple of months, it was truly not that difficult to understand how she could have overlooked it. Truly, she should not have been surprised.

But now she was distressed. And she hoped Wynne would be able to help her.

She approached the elderly mage, who was, yet again, darning socks. Most likely Alistair's, the elf thought, setting down beside the mage. Her mother never sewed, but she recalled that her father's sister, Dalia, loved sewing. Adela remember sitting for hours with Shianni tucked under one arm and Soris off causing trouble somewhere, just watching as her aunt would sew clothing or create dolls for the girls. Like so many things about the Alienage, the young woman missed her family.

"Wynne?" she started tentatively, concerned about pulling the woman's attention from her work. A white brow rose, and then her head.

"Yes, dear?" She had a grandmotherly tone, one that Adela had learned quickly could turn almost militarily commanding.

Clearing her throat, she said, "Wynne, I…I need to talk with you." That fear started clenching her throat, and she forced it down. Wynne put her work down, concern showing upon her finely lined face.

"What is it, Adela?"

Shaking her head, she motioned toward the mage's tent. "Not here," she pleaded quietly, trying not to draw anyone's attention to them. "It's rather personal and I just…" her voice trailed off.

The mage nodded her head and put her work into the bag that had been beside her. Wynne motioned Adela to enter first, and then the mage followed, tying the flap closed as she entered.

Sitting, wringing her hands, now the elf did not know how to approach the subject. Now, more than ever, she wished for her family. The feeling of homesickness had never been as strong as it was now. "Wynne," she began, her voice cracking. "I…I think I may be pregnant." She managed to blurt this out, her face heating with rising shame.

Shock came across the mage's face, but was quickly replaced with one of matronly concern. Never would she have thought Adela one to have engaged in such relations outside of the bonds of marriage. She just did not seem that type of girl. The mage then scolded herself for passing such judgment; she did not really know the elf. She knew nothing of the girl's life prior to becoming a Grey Warden. "Come here, child," she motioned the girl closer to her, and then carefully placed a hand on her abdomen. "When was the last time you had…?"

The girl started to shake a bit, recalling Vaughan. "It was about three months ago," she admitted, shame flushing over her anew. Wynne frowned as she sent some of her magic into the girl, searching. "It…well, it was not by choice," bluest eyes rose, tears there. And Wynne understood, and felt a rush of pity for the girl. Of course; this girl was a product of an Alienage; and humans tended to use the girls within…"It was the only time, but I have not had my courses since, and so…" her voice trailed off again as she felt the elderly mage's warm magic pass through her.

Wynne nodded. "So this man raped you and you are concerned?" she asked carefully, still searching. The elf nodded, tears running down her face. Sighing, Wynne pulled back, looking the girl in the eye. "Well, my dear, you do not need to worry. You are not pregnant." She then reached over and wiped the tears off the elf's face.

The relief that passed over Adela was almost as unbearable as the fear had been earlier. "Thank the Maker!" she breathed. Then, "So, why have I not had my courses?"

The mage sighed. "I believe it may have had something to do with the joining itself."

Her face crinkled in confusion. "I don't understand."

Sighing, taking the younger woman's hands in her own, Wynne asked, "How much about the joining, or the Grey Wardens on the whole, were you told?"

"Nothing, really," Adela admitted, frowning. "It was all a big secret. And, then, there really wasn't any time for Duncan to talk with me afterwards as we were preparing for the battle."

"How much has Alistair told you?" the mage prodded.

Head shaking, Adela responded, "Not a whole lot. He doesn't seem to know a lot about it, either." Her face scrunched. "Why?"

"Well, my dear. I think that perhaps the concoction you drank at the time of joining may have something to do with your current lack of courses."

"But, but, if I don't get my courses," her hand went instinctively to her stomach. "doesn't that mean I can't have children?" Now a real fear gripped her heart. Not have children? How is that possible?

Wynne looked thoughtful, then replied, "It is possible." She peered into the girl's face. "I take it that would be a problem for you?"

The girl nodded. "I always knew that I would marry and have children. That's what we did for the community. Live and keep the elven race alive. And, regardless, I _want _to eventually marry and have children. I had thought it still possible even if I was a Grey Warden." Tears formed in her eyes. "But now…" her voice trailed off. This was not fair! She looked at Wynne, trying to force herself to be steady. "Thank you, Wynne." she moved to the tent's entrance, but stopped when the mage placed a hand on her arm.

"This may be temporary," the mage advised, trying to put some hope in the girl's heart. "It may be your body adjusting to the taint that was placed there. In time…" Adela nodded her thanks, and then left the tent.

Never have children! That was unthinkable! That thought, more than her shortened lifespan, caused her a great deal of sorrow, and then anger. What in the name of the Maker…! How much more are we expected to give up!

Chuckles and soft words drifted to the elf's ears. She looked up from her bout of self pity and managed a grin as she watched Alistair, who was happily engaged in a meal of rabbit and pheasant, absentmindedly toss a bone over to Hafter. Morrigan had set up her own tent and fire and appeared to be brewing potions. The beautiful witch was scowling as she attacked the elf root she had lain out and was chopping. The sound of metal ringing against metal brought Adela's attention to where Roland was sparring with the Sten. His motions were fluid and graceful, but still a bit shaky. The sparring with the giant at this time was to try and build up the ravaged knight's strength. Adela still worried about him, but he always smiled at her concerned inquiries, insisting he was well. Her eyes moved away from the knight's form. Leliana was no where to be seen, and the elf presumed she was in her tent, getting some rest before her watch later in the evening.

Plucking a wing from Alistair's plate, the elf plopped down next to him, chewing thoughtfully. The man assumed a pouty look. "Hey! That was mine!" he whined playfully, batting his eyelashes at the elven woman.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, well, I set the snares, and look!" she gestured toward the empty spits. "This is all I got."

The Warden glanced guiltily at the fire. "Oh…" he mumbled around the food in his mouth. "Sorry." He handed her his plate, which consisted mostly of bones with barely any meat on them. She looked up at him, arching a graceful brow at him. Blushing, he pulled the plate back. "I bet I have some cheese…" he started patting at his clothing, "…somewhere."

"Argh!" Adela shook her head, imaging lint packed cheese. "No, no, that's fine." she smiled over at him as she deposited the wing bones back on his plate. "I'm okay."

Setting his plate down on the ground, Alistair wiped his hands off on a cloth. "You know, for a Grey Warden, you don't eat enough."

Licking the grease from her fingers, she nodded, "So I've been told."

Chuckling, he put his arm around the small woman's shoulders, tugging her closer. She was grateful for the contact as she felt chilled, and Alistair was always warm. She looked over at the profile of his face as he sat there, watching the fire. He really was handsome, with a kind, open face, although she preferred clean shaven to the always present stubble he maintained. And that little patch under his chin? What was that? She grinned, continuing her survey of his face. She decided she liked his eyes the best. They were always warm and full of humor, but she had seen them go hard and filled with concentration when he was in battle.

She was surprised by how comfortable she felt with him, how very safe she felt whether he had his arm about her as now or just merely being in the same vicinity. Knowing how he felt about her always gave her a guilty pang, and she hoped he did not misconstrue her affection for him. As fine a man as he was, she just did not have those romantic feelings toward him that she knew he had for her. She turned her gaze back to the fire.

There were times she thought she should pull back, back away emotionally from the young man so that he would not start to think that his feelings were reciprocated. But, she always stopped herself. Before he had told her of his childhood, he had always come across as someone who needed affection and attention from others. After they had spoken, she realized how accurate that assessment had been. And, truth be told, she would miss his company and companionship if she did pull away. She sighed, leaning her head against his strong shoulder. And they sat in companionable silence for a while. Alistair shifted in his seat a bit, slinking down a bit more to more fully wrap his form closer against the elf's. Adela noticed something about his posture that suggested he was in deep thought, but did not press him. He always came to her once his thoughts were settled, and she had learned to wait until those times.

They sat like that until it was time for Alistair to assume first watch. The young man pushed the elf toward her tent, telling her to get some rest before the dreaded 'second watch'. Laughing at him, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then crawled into her tent to snuggle into her bedroll.

DA:O

The morning sprung cold, the sky dark and bleak, promising rain. The knight glanced up, his eyes blinking in the dim light. Although he was recovering from his ordeals at the hands of Howe and his men, the young man was still experiencing many physical side effects from his tortures and confinement. One was a continued sensitivity to light.

A roll of his shoulders settled his armor comfortably, and he looked around at his traveling companions. A strange lot, indeed, but one he was most grateful for. Alistair strode ahead, dressed in silverite armor similar to that the knight current wore, next to his fellow warden. The young elf continued to wear the leather armor she had acquired back at the castle. He knew that she carried a second set - of Dalish make - in her pack, and he was also aware that Alistair did not think much of that set. Roland was curious about that, but then, he found himself growing more curious about anything pertaining to the lovely woman with each passing day. Next to her walked her great war hound, his tongue lolling out, happily enjoying the walk as though a morning stroll. Leliana currently walked next to him, unusually quiet and pensive and, try as he might, he could not engage her in any meaningful conversation. Wynne walked serenely behind them, content to simply walk and enjoy the fresh air. This day, as every other, the huge Qunari warrior walked further back from the group, but this day the witch walked beside him. It was difficult not to notice that the witch was carefully and skillfully avoiding the Orlesian.

He remembered how Adela had been slightly hesitant to take from the Highever vault, but Roland had insisted. It made sense; why leave them for Howe's men? So, she had agreed. And now Alistair wore Cousland silverite and carried a Highever blade. Roland wore similar armor but carried the family heirlooms Cousland Heraldry and the Family Blade. They had found effective plate for the Qunari and a great two handed sword. The knight had insisted on their taking all they could carry. If nothing else, they could sell the surplus and fund their quest against the Blight.

He found his eyes going back to Adela, watching as she bumped up against Alistair, laughing at the man, her smile reaching her eyes. Alistair just grinned back at her sheepishly, watching her as closely as Roland felt himself watching. He shook his head. He missed something; not paying attention to what was going on around him but lost in his musings that consisted mostly of her. It was obvious that the two Wardens were close, and that, on the part of the man at the very least, there was _something _there. He had to wonder at the slight bit of jealousy he felt toward the other man. There was no call for it; not only because he did not know Adela as well as Alistair, but he had no claim to her attentions. But he was and he couldn't deny that he was. He was heartened only by the fact that all of Adela's affections toward her fellow Warden had always seemed more on par as the affections of a close friend rather than beloved. Despite what he saw in the other man's eyes when he looked at the elf, Roland was certain there was nothing other than friendship and a sort of kinship between the two.

At least, he thought as he watched Alistair bend his head down to whisper into Adela's delicately pointed ear, that was his hope.

DA:O

The group made good timing. Either that or Adela's calculations on how long it would take to get to Redcliffe were off. The elf shrugged at Alistair's teasing. At least they were ahead of schedule rather than behind, she had retorted with a toss of her head.

They were greeted at the footbridge leading across a small gully by a nervous young man who had introduced himself as Thomas. "Are…are you here to help, then?" he asked hesitatingly as his eyes kept glancing over his shoulder.

"Help?" Adela asked as she and the party stopped before the young man. She and Alistair exchanged confused looks. "What's wrong here?"

"Then...then you don't know?" his voice rising in pitch with hysteria. Adela stepped forward and grasped his arm, wanting to calm the youth.

"We are here to see Arl Eamon," the elf explained, worry now on her features.

"The Arl i-is sick or worse!" the boy cried out, pulling his arm from Adela's hold. "And every night we…we're attacked by those monsters!"

"Hold on here," Alistair stepped forward, his amber eyes fixing on the lad. "The Arl is ill?" The boy nodded. "And you say there are monster attacks?"

Thomas nodded his shaggy head, "Ye-Yes, and only B-Bann Teagan has been able to keep the village organized."

"Bann Teagan is here?" Alistair asked. Again Thomas nodded. "Well, take us to him," the Warden insisted, ignoring the rumbles of the Sten behind them and the scoff that came from Morrigan.

Thinking that of course it couldn't be easy, Adela motioned for the group to follow as she matched pace with Thomas.


	18. Chapter 18

_I own nothing save for Adela (well, maybe her stylized halla figurine - both the ivory and silver). Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. _

_As always, thank you all for the reviews. zevgirl, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Biff McLaughlin, fighter-chic, Windchime68. Every word is a great boost to my ego and momentum! And the alerts and favs - always a great boost! _

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 18_

The followed Thomas into a village filled with the sobs of distress, curses of resignation, and mumblings of determination. Adela thought that, had she visited this place under different circumstances, she would have found the small fishing village quaint and pleasant. Her gaze wandered over the men practicing archery, hearing their curses and frantic muttering, over to an older man, his face age lined and heavy with worry speaking with one of the militiamen. And while some of those they passed were hardened with resolve, most appeared to only be going through the motions, as though their limbs were responding to hearts and minds that had already given up all hope.

Alistair, Roland and the Sten had stopped, their eyes quickly taking in the scene set before them with quiet professionalism. She paused, falling back as the others continued to follow the young man into the Chantry. Each of the three men, trained warriors, were obviously taking in the skill sets of each of those present in the village's center. Moreover, although none of them said a word, she could tell that they were not overly impressed by what they saw. As a one, they turned their attention from the practice and continued to the Chantry. Taking one last look around, the elf followed.

The doors to the Chantry protested little as Thomas pushed them open, holding them as the rest of the party entered. The young man led the group, Adela and Alistair closely behind, to a man of mid-years dressed in chain mail at the back of the great hall. They waited as he finished giving orders to a young man clad in leather and carrying a bow. Thomas motioned for the party to remain and he took a few steps forward, bowing his head and speaking quietly to the man.

After a nod, putting his hand on the young man's shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze, he turned to the group assembled before him.

"Greetings, travelers!" he called out, bringing a hand up in acknowledgement, and then bowing his head slightly. "I am Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere. As you can no doubt see, we are in peril here. How may I be of assistance?"

Alistair stepped forward, "I remember you, Bann Teagan," he said, his voice strangely quiet. "Although the last time we saw each other I was covered in mud." Adela smirked at the image of a younger Alistair covered head to toe in mud. The young man gave her a sidelong look, a small grin on his face.

"Covered in mud?" the man's cultured tones rose in question. His eyes, a coppery brown, searched the young man's face, recognition dawning quickly. "Alistair!" He moved forward, grasping the younger man's shoulders, almost pulling him into a hug. "By the Maker! I am so pleased to learn you are alive! We had heard all the Grey Wardens had perished."

"Alive, yes," Alistair said, his tone now serious and grim. "No thanks to Teryn Loghain." Adela grimaced slightly, but did not say anything.

"Indeed," Teagan's tone of grimness mirrored Alistair's. "Loghain would have us all believe that Cailan's death was of his own doing, brought about by the treachery of the Grey Wardens!"

Finding her voice, Adela asked, "You don't believe that?"

Teagan's eyes went to the young elven woman standing beside Alistair. "Believe that Cailan let his dreams of glory bring about his death and the death of his army?" he scoffed. "Believe that the Grey Wardens would betray King and County to darkspawn? Hardly."

Adela had questions, many questions, for the Bann: had he seen Loghain? Anora? Nevertheless, she pushed these and the other questions aside. For now, things were going badly here in Redcliffe, and that must take priority.

"I apologize, my lady," the Bann bowed, catching her attention, "But I did not catch your name."

Smiling slightly, more than pleased to overlook his breach of protocol (if there was protocol for a noble addressing an elf), the elf responded, "I am Warden Adela," Alistair snorted next to her and she cast him a questioning look. Alistair turned his eyes to the older man, a grin firmly in place.

"This is Warden _Commander _Adela," he informed him, pride clearly in his voice.

The elf rolled her eyes at him while Teagan's bow deepened. "Warden Commander," he responded.

Gracing Alistair with a smirk, which he had the sense to return, she turned back to the Bann. "What, exactly, has been happening here?" She kept her tone down, keeping in mind that there were many frightened people within earshot. She glanced over to where a revered mother was holding prayers for some of the children and elderly confined to the chantry.

The Bann's face clouded. "Monstrous _things _come from the castle each night," he began to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. "They attack the village from the dark of night until dawn, and then go back to the castle. Each night it is the same. We've lost many villagers and, I fear, if the pattern holds true, we may lose even more this eve."

"Not is we can help it," Alistair put in, disturbed that his childhood home was being threatened in such a manner.

Nodding her agreement, the elf asked, "What kind of monstrous things are we talking about?"

The shudder that went through the Bann's body was nearly visible. "They appear to be corpses, the walking dead." His head fell. "We have taken to burning our dead as soon as the attacks cease, otherwise…" his voice trailed off. There was no need for him to explain.

Dread filled her. Walking dead? From the castle? She feared greatly that they would not find the Arl - or anyone - alive within the castle. However, her resolve was firm. These people needed aid; they would help them with this menace and then seek the source. It was the only right thing to do.

Stepping forward and placing a comforting hand on the Bann's arm, Adela softly said, "We'll stop these attacks, Bann Teagan," she looked him in the eyes, trying to convey more comfort and hope through the contact. "How may we be of assistance?" the elf asked, politely forestalling any further conversation between the two men.

The relief that came across his handsome face spoke volumes. "Thank you," he breathed, motioning a nearby man to his side. "Mayor Murdock is out in the courtyard, rallying the militia. You should ask if he needs any assistance." His gaze fell over the Sten, Alistair and Roland. "I see you have capable warriors in your group. He may need someone to help train what men he has left." He paused, his eyes skimming over the rest of the group, finally settling upon Adela.

"Ser Perth of Arl Eamon's' retinue can be found in the higher levels by the mill. He may have need of your assistance as well." He frowned, thinking. "Most of the villagers who are unable to fight have been brought here, although I am certain there are a few of the more stubborn folk who yet remain in their homes." his eyes fixed on Adela's face. "Truly, I am most appreciative of any assistance you and your party can render to Redcliffe's aid."

Nodding, she turned to the party, ordering the Sten, Alistair and Leliana to see if they can be of assistance with any last minute training the troops would need. The Sten, who had seemed on the verge of an argument, grunted his approval and led the trio out. Roland had remained behind along with Wynne and Morrigan. He listened as Adela asked the elder mage to see to any injuries of those huddled within the Chantry. With a nod, a pat on her arm, Wynne set off.

Morrigan stood, watching the elf with disbelief. Her snort of disapproval was difficult for the elf to ignore.

"You have something to add to this, Morrigan?" Adela questioned as she turned toward the witch.

Yellow eyes met blue, unblinking. "Indeed I do," the witch replied in her usual sultry tones. "I have to wonder why we waste our time here when there are other allies we could be collecting."

Those blue eyes widened. "Hmmm…could it be because these people are in need of help?" came the sarcastic reply.

The witch merely scoffed, not at all impressed. "'Tis the people in need of aid; we have no idea of what is happening in the castle, wherein presumably lies this Arl Eamon," the witch frowned. "Leave these to their fate, Adela. We can collect on the other treaties and have our army."

Shaking her head adamantly, the elf now stood before the human. Although Morrigan stood many inches taller than the petite elf, Adela seemed to loom over the human woman. "We will help these people, Morrigan." Her head turned slightly toward the sound of a young woman crying in a corner. "Let us forget that we need the Arl's help in order to even hope to prevail against the Blight," the elf turned her eyes back to the witch. "Let's forget that at this time we have no idea of how fares the Arl, and the only means of getting into the castle may well depend upon saving this village and stopping those monsters that keep attacking." Then the elf took a step forward. "We shall put aside all of the pragmatic reasons for this. Mostly, we will help these people because it is the right thing to do."

Morrigan did not back an inch, the look of disdain clearly upon her face telling the elf exactly what she thought of that argument. "Why do you persist?" the witch asked, her tones lowering slightly. "None of these here would lift a finger to help you, and you know this to be true."

A blond brow arched upwards. "What do you mean by that?"

Another scoff. "Come now, Adela. Surely you are not so sheltered as to be unaware of how little regard humans hold elves in."

Memories of her mother's death…Lord Vaughan's raid of the Alienage…her time spent within the Denerim estates…Vaughan…"I do not need you to tell me of how little regard some humans may hold elves in," it came out a snarl, and surprised the elf greatly. Roland shifted uncomfortably behind her, but she did not turn.

Smirking, feeling smug at this little victory, Morrigan pressed. "'Tis a wonder, then, that an elf would be so insistent upon doing the right thing by these pathetic humans," a graceful arm swept out to encompass the poor souls lingering in the Chantry, "when none here would lift a finger to so much as give you the time of day."

She took a deep breath, backed away from the witch. "While your words may well be true, Morrigan," her voice was steady. "It does not change the fact that I will help these people. That _we _will help these people." She turned away Hafter right at her side, almost dwarfing the tiny woman. She tilted her head at Roland for him to follow. The knight stepped to her side, and the elf turned once more back to the witch. "Simply for the fact that your words may well be true."

Then, smiling at the confusion in the witch's yellow eyes, the elf turned and walked out of the Chantry. Roland cast one look at Morrigan, and followed the elven woman out.

DA:O

The militia was, by its very definition, just a collection of fishermen and tradesmen who owned few weapons and would be ready to defend their village when necessary. What the Sten, Alistair and Leliana found were men who barely knew which end of a sword to hold, or could barely hit the target with an arrow. However, many of those in the militia were determined and had heart, and those two could mean the difference between living and dying. Those that seemed to have fallen into despair could well use the training, if for nothing else to gather their thoughts from the darkness and prepare to defend their village.

The bard glanced up at the sun. By the Maker's own providence, they had arrived at the village earlier than scheduled, and early in the day. She looked over to where the two warriors met with those who bore swords. An entire day training these men may keep them alive, but the Orlesian was finding it difficult to believe. She was amazed that any of them had lived this far.

She turned to watch as Adela left the Chantry, Roland and Morrigan behind her. The woman let her gaze shift over to the witch, who was scowling in irritation at the elf's back. She smirked. Morrigan was obviously not happy with the decision to remain and assist the village. The Orlesian turned back to the man she was straightening the stance of. Leliana knew that Morrigan would be a tough nut to crack, or so the saying went. The Orlesian knew that there was more to the lovely witch than just the caustic personality she showed. She sighed inwardly. Well, things that are worthwhile are never easy to obtain.

The man relaxed into the stance, pulled taut on the bowstring, and let the arrow fly, hitting the target fairly close to the bull's-eye. With a word of praise, the Orlesian went on to the next in line.

DA:O

Roland watched the activity in the courtyard as he followed Adela over to an older man with a heavily lined face. The knight was concerned about the battle that would most likely occur this evening. Taking a quick look at the fighters and archers - all of whom were obviously benefiting from the experience of his three companions - he could not help but feel as though each one would need the Maker's last rites.

He shook that dismal thought aside. No doubt Adela would not appreciate such counterproductive thinking. He glanced over at the group's leader, and forced a smile from his face. He had appreciated her words to the witch within the Chantry. It was obvious that the elven woman believed each word she had spoken as well.

Despair. That was what the knight read upon the older man's face. Despair and a certain acceptance of the death that waited. That was not helpful, Roland thought. These other men depended upon a leader to be confident, or at least the appearance of confidence. The man spoke in a deep, gravely voice, and it took him a moment to realize that the older man was addressing him.

"I take it you are the Warden Commander," the mayor replied, looking directly at the knight, avoiding looking at Adela.

Roland noticed the smirk that crossed Morrigan's face, and he felt a rush of anger at this man. He had obviously assumed Roland was the leader because he was human. He glanced at Adela, who was opening her mouth to address the other man, his thought continuing, and most likely because I am a man.

"Pardon me," Adela spoke, her voice strong. She was also carefully avoiding Morrigan's smirk. "But, I am Adela, Commander of the Grey in Fereldan."

A sense of pride, and then smugness flushed over him as Roland watched the man flounder with apology to Adela. The elf, to her credit, merely brushed aside his apologies, wanting only to find out how else she and her group could help. The man's grey eyes wandered over the forms of the militia training with Leliana, the Sten and Alistair.

"You've provided us with a good start, Warden," he acknowledged in that gravelly voice. "My men can certain benefit from instruction from such capable warriors." He turned his eyes to the elf, and Roland was pleased to see respect clearly shining there. "We are having difficulty with the blacksmith, Owen." He rubbed an embarrassed hand across the back of his neck. "He refused to repair armor and weapons, and without his assistance the equipment we currently have will be nearly useless in tonight's battle." He scowled as he surveyed the sub par bow strapped to one of his militiamen's back.

A graceful brow shot up at that. "Wait," a slender elven hand raised, "are you telling me that one of your townsfolk refuses to help in the battles?" the disbelief was obvious in her tone.

A nod from the Mayor, and then he clarified, "His daughter is one of the Arlessa's maids." his eyes wandered over to the blacksmith shop, its billows obviously cold by the lack of smoke from the chimney. "He refuses to help out without a promise that I'll send someone after her." He snarled at that. "As if I have the manpower to launch a rescue to the castle while the village remains in danger!" The despair that had been in those eyes mere moments ago was replaced with frustration and anger. "He'll let the whole village die around him without a second thought!"

Coward, Roland thought that at the building the mayor had indicated. Adela had bowed her head, chewing her bottom lip in thought. Morrigan shuffled slightly behind them, turning as she gazed about the village square.

"Well, I'll just have to go in there and convince him he needs to pull his weight," Adela lifted her head, determination written clearly on her face.

"I don't see how you think you can," the mayor grumbled.

The elf grinned at him. "Oh, I can be persuasive when I set my mind to it, Ser Mayor," the elf replied. "I just cannot believe that a man would not do anything and everything in his power for his community."

The mayor tilted his head, watching the elf. "You must be from an Alienage, I take it?" he asked. The elf nodded, that brow still raised. "Thought so. You elves tend to have closer communities than some human villages do." he bowed his head. "Perhaps we humans should learn more from that, eh?"

That grin still on her face, Adela actually giggled, "I've always thought so." Her face turned serious as she faced the smithy. "Okay, guess I've a blacksmith to convince to do his job." With a determined step, she walked to the front of the smithy, reached for the handle and turned…

Only to find the darn thing locked. _Locked_! Roland supposed the blacksmith truly did not want to be bothered.

Adela knocked. There was no response. She placed an ear to the door, listening. Obviously, there was nothing. With a frown on her face, the elf knelt down and started examining the lock. _Great Maker_! Roland thought. _Was she really considering breaking into the man's home? _Then the knight reminded himself that those same skills had helped to free him of the dungeons in Highever. Moreover, if the fool within this building was not going to be reasonable…

There was a sharp click and Adela, with a triumphant smirk on her face, turned the knob and watched the door swing open. There was a shout of mild protest from within, and the elf entered, followed closely by the knight and witch.

The stench of stale ale permeated the smithy. Combined with the old smells of hot metal, damp creosote and ozone…it nearly made the elf gag. An old man stood, well, really leaned awkwardly against a far wall, glaring at the intruders.

"Humph!" he snorted, stumbling forward slightly, obviously inebriated. "What right ya got for bargin' in here?" he demanded, stepping forward to glare down with bloodshot eyes at the much smaller elf.

"I am Warden Adela," she introduced herself. "I understand that you are refusing to assist the militia during this crisis." She stepped forward, her eyes narrowed and steel in her melodic voice. "I am here to make certain that you live up to your obligation to this village and the townsfolk."

The old man snorted, spittle flying from his mouth, "Yeah," he swayed. "You and what army?"

Fighting the desire to throttle the man, Roland stood back and watched as Adela took care of the situation.

"I won't need an army," she looked him in the eye. "Because you are going to do it out of a sense of duty and loyalty for your home."

"Oh I am, am I?" he growled, straightening. "And what makes you think I'm gonna listen to some knife-eared wench who just says she's some kinda warden, eh?"

Both Roland and Morrigan's heads shot up, a sneer crossing the pretty witch's face. Although she may have taken some glee when the mayor turned to Roland as their leader, she obviously did not like having the elf so insulted. The knight had to remind himself that Adela was the leader. He could not undermine her by grabbing a hold of the old man who glared down at her.

Steady stare met angry glare. "You are going to help because it is what people facing a crisis to a community do." She stood tall and, although she barely came to the man's stooped shoulders, she was the one dominating the area and conversation. "You _will _light those fires; you _will _repair any weapons and armor that the militia need." She rose on her toes, her eyes sharp as sapphires, "You will do _this _because it is what you do. No one else here can do it. And," she backed off a bit, allowing some sympathy into her face. "it is the only chance anyone will survive."

"What do I have to fight for?" came the quiet question, the pain on the man's face so evident Roland felt a rise of pity for him.

Adela must have felt it as well for she reached a hand out and gently patted him on the arm. "The only way anyone can get into the castle and save whoever is still alive," she said softly, her voice calm, immediately loosing the iron from earlier, "is for someone to still be alive to be able to save them." She gave his arm a squeeze. "Your daughter included."

Heavy lids closed over tired eyes. A soft sob slipped from between his lips. His head nodded down once, then twice. "You have my word, Warden," he raised his head, his voice full of respect and hope, "Tell Murdock to send over whatever needs repairing." He turned to his forge to light the billows. "And have him send over someone to help me here," his fist clenched with determination. "By the Maker! We'll show those monsters what for," his hopeful eyes turned back to Adela. "Now won't we."

She smiled at him, and nodded. "My thanks, Ser Smith," she replied as she turned and left, Roland and Hafter behind her. While Adela did not take note, Roland noticed the dark look Morrigan tossed to the smith before she followed.

DA:O

He did not understand why the Elven Warden cared for these people. He grunted as he paused in the instruction of how to properly wield a sword. These people were simple fishermen, and had no business wielding a sword. After reprimanding the angler turned warrior for holding the sword too tightly, the Sten turned to survey the area. The Human Warden seemed to be having as much luck with his students as he was; the Orlesian was actually faring better with her recruits. Archery seemed to be the combat form more common among these folk.

He shook his great head. The Warden commanded it be so, and so he shall teach these simpletons how to wield a sword. Not that he truly expected it to do anyone any good come nightfall.

DA:O

_Okay, so the mayor is happy and the drunken smith will be smithying soon_. Adela let out a sigh as she surveyed the homes located on the docks. Murdock said that the dwarven merchant was housed somewhere by the docks. She scowled slightly. _Which house? Do I just go and enter each one?_ She glanced about, looking for someone - _anyone _- from the village. She spotted a familiar figure - Thomas - and headed straight for him, aware that Roland and Morrigan followed behind.

The young man was more than happy to direct Adela to where the dwarf lived. Of course, the door was locked. She knocked. No answer. _Why were things never simple_, she had to wonder, and wonder also, why she was the one who had to speak with strangers to fight for their village when the town's mayor couldn't get anywhere? _Ah, well, nothing for it other than to_…she bent down…_go and see_…her pick quickly and deftly released the lock…_if anyone will listen_. She straightened, cast Roland a small smile, and then turned the knob.

The dwarf was amiable enough, with gold lining his pockets that is. _Ah, a mercenary. How truly original._ She shook her head, feeling just a little tired and wanting only to take a nap. However, she needed to let Murdock know that he now had a few other weapons - these skilled - on their side this evening. She stepped back out, feeling the cool breeze from the lake flow over her. She lifted her head, her eyes closed. This was not turning out to be as easy as simply waving the treaties in front of people's faces or pleading that the darkspawn need to be stopped. Each step seemed to have its own peril, and she had to wonder if other Wardens from other ages had to jump through so many hoops that she found herself and her companions needing to jump through. She felt a large hand rest on her shoulder and she knew, without opening her eyes that it was Roland. She did open her eyes, meeting his friendly gaze.

Okay, talk to Murdock, and then she needed to speak with Roland.

DA:O

_Well that could be better_, the young Warden thought as he surveyed the militiamen, counted off in sparring pairs, hacking at each other with blunted blades. _Actually, it could be a lot better_, he thought with a groan as he watched the clumsy strikes. Argh, he brought a finger to the bridge of his nose. This must have been how Commander MacTavish felt when he was training raw recruits for the Chantry. Alistair glanced over and watched for a moment as Adela spoke with the mayor. Roland was studying the older man with an intense expression while Morrigan just seemed…well, bored. The young warden's eyes went back to the knight. He could not help but feel a little hurt that Adela brought Roland with her and had him remain behind to help train the troops. He was her second, after all, wasn't he? A sudden crash brought his attention back to the sparring pairs. Shaking his head, he walked over to them, pulling the pair off the ground from where they were brawling - _brawling_! He gave each man a shake, showed him - _again _- how to properly hold a sword, and then went back down the line. Most of them seemed to get the hang of it, but some…well, hopefully fear will instill some skill at the time of the battle. That was all he could hope for.

He looked up again, and saw that Adela and Roland were talking, their heads close together. Roland nodded, then pointed up the hill toward the tavern. The elven woman nodded her head and, with a word tossed back to the witch, the trio, along with Hafter who seemed glued to Adela's side (_that is where I should be_), headed toward the tavern.

I just hope they bring me back a drink, he thought as he turned back to the recruits.

DA:O

_Why do all of these simpletons not seek to protect their own_? Morrigan wondered in disgust as she followed the elf and knight up to the tavern. The mabari was now walking beside her.

"What now, you stupid dog?" she asked as the beast (_oh, what did the elf name him_?) merely tilted his head at her and whined at her.

Exasperated, Morrigan exclaimed, "Stop looking at me, mongrel. I have nothing you want!"

To which Hafter (_that is the bloody dog's name_!) merely whined again.

She pointedly ignored the amused looks Adela and Roland cast in her direction.

"Why do you keep staring at me so, you flea-ridden beast? Can you not tell when you are not wanted?"

"Oh Morrigan," Adela called out, "Stop picking on my dog."

Hafter whined again, wagging his stubby tail. Roland tried hard not to chuckle, but he still earned a glare from the witch.

"I enjoy the company of creatures of the wild. Not stench-ridden, domesticated wolves." she waved her hand imperiously at the beast, who only continued to whine and wag his tail at her.

"And he persists! Maddening!" She stomped off, passing the elf and knight, who had both given up their efforts to not laugh.

Hafter merely followed the angered witch, barking happily in her wake.

DA:O

The militia was two more men heavier than it had been earlier. Adela had somehow managed to cajole and bully an elf - who had been sent by Howe to spy upon Castle Redcliffe - and the tavern keeper, a fat, unsavory man name Lloyd, into joining in the fight that eve. Roland was proud of her; the elf had a way of making people come around to her way of thinking that was incredible. Especially when one considered she was a shy elven artist from an Alienage with no training in command whatsoever.

They then met with Ser Perth, one of the last of Arl Eamon's knights. Apparently, the Arlessa had sent out all of Redcliffe's knights in search of a Brother Genetivi. The details were vague; however, the Arlessa apparently believed that this brother could locate the whereabouts for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, Andraste's final resting place. Rumor had it that the Ashes could cure all ills. Roland merely shook his head at that, while Adela, not completely telling the knight that she thought the quest foolhardy, had questioned the Arlessa's decision to leave the castle and village so unguarded. Ser Perth appeared to be in complete agreement.

So, the group found themselves back at the Chantry, much to the amusement of Morrigan, asking the Revered Mother for holy symbols for the knights, who apparently felt they were needed for protection. After much haranguing, the Revered Mother finally obliged.

Now, there was nothing left to do but oversee the militia's final training, and wait for nightfall.

Adela had taken up a spot with Leliana to help with archery lessons. Although she herself was a better shot than the Orlesian, Leliana had a better knack for teaching. Adela taught by example: the human archers taking note of her form and stance, how she grasped the bowstring and then fired. Leliana would talk them through the steps, giving them encouragement, adjusting a stance here, relaxing a grip there. Between the two, they had managed to improve the skills of the archers considerably.

Roland had taken his previous experiences as a knight and Captain of the Guard at Highever and had helped Sten and Alistair with their own recruits. Although still lacking in skill, the men in the militia at least now had a working knowledge and confidence in their swordsmanship. It would not be a total blood bath.

Word soon arrived from Ser Perth's men for the Warden and her group to get into position. The plan called for Roland, the Sten and Leliana to accompany Ser Perth and his knights up by the mill. Adela, Alistair and Morrigan would remain with the militia by the docks. Wynne and Hafter would be inside the Chantry, along with Bann Teagan, a last line of defense should the knights and militia fails.

Roland admitted to not liking the idea of leaving Adela's side. However, splitting the group was a good decision if solely for keeping morale up. With final farewells and good lucks tossed about, Roland led his group up to the mill to await the start of the battle.

DA:O

Adela was nervous. As she always was before a battle. The time before, when there was time to think - and for someone like Adela, there was always time to think - made her far more nervous than battles that are just sprung upon her. With time to think came time to think of everything that could go wrong. In addition, facing these strange foes even more could go wrong. She took several breaths, trying to calm herself. She looked over at Alistair, who was examining his blade. A smile crossed her face as she watched him. Alistair never seemed nervous before a battle. But then, he was an accomplished warrior, well trained, and naturally brave. She was an artist who had been trained by her mother at the art of bow and dagger, but had never really had any cause for their use until fairly recently. The other Warden looked up and grinned at her, sheathing his sword and motioning her to him. The elf had to tell herself not to run to his side.

Putting his arm around her slender shoulders, Alistair bent down. "Nervous?" he asked, putting a teasing quality to his voice.

Nodding, she snuggled closer to him, trying hard not to appear nervous as many of the militiamen were watching the two wardens. "Do I look nervous?" she asked, lifting her face to watch Alistair.

He shook his head. "No, not really." he honestly replied. "Just a little tentative."

"Humph!" she grunted a bit, her gaze wandering up to the mill. "I'm a little worried about Roland," she confided, turning her gaze back to Alistair.

She missed the little flicker of a grimace on his face. "Why?" He asked.

Shrugging her shoulders, lifting his arm with the movement, she answered, "It's only been a couple of weeks since we rescued him," she explained.

Snorting, Alistair commented, "Don't worry about him, Adela," he gave her a little shake. "He was well trained before his imprisonment, and dutiful in his practice since. He's in good shape, and more than capable to handle a few walking corpses." He shifted, pulling her in front of him as he draped his arms across her, resting his chin on her head. "He's a good enough soldier that if he felt his presence was a detriment; he would stay out of the fight."

She lifted her face, turning it slightly to the side so that Alistair could see her smile. "Thanks, Alistair."

The human gave her a squeeze and she rested her hands on his arms. He let his eyes wander the courtyard, where most of the militiamen had been stationed. If the creatures got past the knights and Roland's group by the mill, it was their duty to stop any of the monsters from entering the Chantry, wherein stood Wynne, Hafter and Bann Teagan, defending what was left of the villagers. He shivered slightly, recalling the undead they had encountered in the Circle Tower. He had no desire to face their like again, but here they were, preparing to battle them for the village. His eyes wandered upward, to where Castle Redcliffe sat upon its cliff overlooking the lake and village. A flicker caught his attention and he straightened, rising from his perch behind Adela. The elf noticed his movement and stood up, following his gaze with her own.

A cloud of darkness rose from the castle, spreading and running along the bridge that connected the village to the castle. Alistair called out to the militiamen to ready their arms.

The walking dead were running.

DA:O

Roland spotted the undead, and called for the knights and his companions to be ready. He had expected the undead to be shambling, slow moving, as those few he had encountered in the Circle Tower had been. The pace with which these undead moved was startling in their quickness. The noise the arose from the parched throats of the dead was horrifying: guttural snarls, gnawing sounds. The knight shook himself as their Orlesian archer shot off the first volley.

Leliana, firing off arrows enchanted with fire, sent a steady stream of the missiles into the first bodies running to them. The Sten stepped in, swinging his greatsword, easily cleaving the nearest corpse from shoulder to groin. Another slipped by the giant, and Roland met it with a shield bash to its face, his sword cutting into its chest and out the back. Ser Perth rushed forward, leading his knights. Dwyn, the dwarven merchant Adela had to bribe to assist in the battle, led his group of mercenaries off to the side, crushing and hacking at the corpses before they could exit the pass's bottleneck. Berwick, the elf from the tavern Adela had persuaded to join the ranks, fired off arrows at a speed that challenged the lovely Orlesian archer. The ranks of the undead quickly diminished.

The group stepped back, taking a moment to catch their breath or apply poultices to wounds. No one had fallen, and Roland took that as a good sign.

The next group that attacked was easily twice the size of the first, and more horrifying. Leliana and Berwick's arrows, each enchanted with magical fire, did the most damage. Roland waded into the undead's midst, swinging his sword, pleased with how easily it came back to him. His shield cleared a path, knocking many of the creatures down. The Sten swung down with his mighty blade, cleaving many of the corpses in two.

Ser Perth and his men fared well. One knight had been badly injured, but could move on his own power. Perth ordered him to the chantry for healing and, albeit reluctantly, the young knight obeyed. Roland had numerous scratches on his face, but nothing serious. Few of the creatures wielded blades. The Sten and Leliana both were unscathed.

There was little time for rest as the third group - far larger than the first two - descended upon them in a hungry wave.

DA:O

Adela turned to watch as the lone knight entered the Chantry for healing. She looked around, first taking note of the nervous militiamen, and then allowed her vision to pass beyond their barricaded front. Her eyes narrowed and she tugged Alistair over, pointing to where she saw movement. The human squinted his eyes, and then they widened.

The undead had found a path to the village's center.

Nervous curses and harsh mumbles sounded from the militiamen. The archers raised their bows and sent a volley into the mass of undead bodies that shambled, ran and shuffled into the square. Adela raised her bow and sent a steady stream of missiles into the midst, felling several of the corpses. With a great war cry, Alistair raised his shield and sword and plunged into the mass of bodies, bashing and swinging his sword, cleaving many in two as he turned to meet the rush.

Words of magic spilled from Morrigan's lips and ice fell upon several of the nearby undead, freezing them to the spot. Lloyd, the tavern keeper Adela had earlier conscripted into the militia, rushed forward with a heavy dagger and stabbed at one of the frozen corpses. With a snarl, Morrigan stepped back, and her form shimmered. In her place stood a giant spider, spewing forth a great web that entangled many of the shambling forms just outside of the square, gaining the militiamen time to dispatch those already in the courtyard. Her form shimmered again, and in its place stood the form of a great black wolf. With a howl, Morrigan plunged into the fray, tearing and clawing the walking dead to pieces.

Fighting down the surge of fear that threatened to overtake her, Adela continued to concentrate her shots to the corpses just beyond the square's borders, slowing down and felling many of those dead that had not yet engaged their allies. A sharp, chilling pain shot through her shoulder, causing her to drop her bow. Her arm and hand numbed, she turned into the gaping maw of a large shambling corpse. She stumbled back, reaching for her daggers, but her right hand would not obey her commands. Her dagger held in her left hand, she swiped at the monster, parrying its claws, turning them aside. She managed to duck beneath a powerful swing, its claws catching in her hair, tearing through it with a growl. Straightening, she thrust her dagger into one of its eyes. With a snarling growl, it clawed at its face, swinging out again to knock the elf from her feet.

The numbing chill that had taken over her right arm had spread across her shoulders and down her torso, and the elf found herself weakening. With a shake of its head, the corpse bent down to grab at the stricken woman. There was a shout, then the monster was knocked back, and then down onto its back. Murdock stepped forward, and sent a stream of arrows into the struggling corpse. A look of concern crossed his craggy face and he bent to the woman. Murmuring a thanks, darkness overtook her.

DA:O

The smell was horrendous, but they had agreed that, during respites of attacks, the bodies were to be burned. Each position had built a large bonfire. Roland watched as Dwyn and his men carried the corpses and tossed them into the blaze. The knight's eyes roamed over the scene. They had been fortunate; despite the numbers of walking corpses sent against them, they had lost no one in the battle. Many of the injuries sustained were cared for with poultices. His eyes continued further down, toward the village center. He hated not knowing how his companions fared. Trusting in their skills, the Highever Knight turned his attention back to the pass, standing guard and ready alongside the Sten, Ser Perth and his knights as the mercenaries cleared the bodies.

DA:O

"For the Grey Wardens!" echoed from his lips, his shield covered with the blood and gore of his foes, his sword - Oathkeeper - maintaining its sharpness as it sliced into putrid flesh, shattering bone, and stopping the hoard of undead.

From the corner of his eye he saw the familiar dark shape of Morrigan in her wolf form. He allowed himself a moment to be grateful the acerbic witch was on their side - well, as far as he could tell. He turned his eyes from her ripping the arm from a corpse to engage another enemy.

Finally, the hoard stopped coming. Alistair ordered the militiamen to gather the corpses and toss them onto the bon fire. The smell would be horrid, but they could ill afford for the corpses to rise back up, especially if another mass of them attacked. The fire had been set closer to the docks, downwind.

Bending at the waist, the ex-templar took a moment to gather his breath, then rose to search out Adela.

DA:O

"Hush, child," Wynne scolded as she sent another warming burst of healing magic through her limbs. "If you don't relax the magic will take longer to heal."

Lying back on the bedroll, Adela watched as the elderly mage's face crinkled in concentration. A large figure knelt at her side, patting her hand. "Easy, my lady," Teagan's warm tones soothed. "Had Murdock not brought you in here, your wounds could well be far worse."

Managing a weak smile, the elf nodded as the warmth flowed back into her tiny form. She was far more concerned about her friends and the militia outside of the chantry's walls, but she knew that she was currently in no condition to help. The corpse that had attacked her had literally frozen her blood, and had the mayor not intervened so aptly, she would have died with barely a scratch.

She could admit it: she was embarrassed by how small a wound it took to knock her down. Never mind that the small wound was created by a magically animated corpse; never mind that, as Wynne had said, her blood had literally turned to ice. The scratch was barely anything any of the others would have noticed and yet here she was, the Maker bedamned appointed Commander (_okay, Duncan, really, I'm beginning to think perhaps all that darkspawn blood sullied your thinking!_) and she couldn't outlast a scrape? Wynne chuckled at her and she turned to regard her friend.

"Really, child," the mage scolded as she watched Adela flex her now responsive hands, "the look on your face…"

Adela cocked a brow at her as she pushed herself up. "Really, Wynne." the elf complained, sitting up and allowing her equilibrium to catch up. "Can you see Alistair or Roland falling down in a faint because a scratch?'

Wynne's own expression matched the elf's. "If it was the same 'scratch' you just suffered?" A smile crossed the older woman's still lovely face. "Yes I would even go so far as to say Sten would have difficulties as well." She reached a hand out and touched Adela's face with affection. "These undead are unnatural, child. The spirits that inhabit them are driven mad and have certain abilities from the Fade. The attack upon you was magical in nature." She smiled as she rose to her feet. "Take a few more moments here, Adela," she chided as she turned. "I trust the good Bann here will be certain you behave yourself."

"Indeed, Lady Mage," the Bann bowed his head gracefully to the mage. "I shall see to it that she rests for a few moments longer."

Eyeing them both, the elf could only roll her eyes as she pushed her back against the wall behind her. "Fine, fine. A few minutes, Wynne." she agreed, glaring defiantly at the mage's retreating back. Bann Teagan chuckled at her as he took a seat beside her against the wall.

After a moment of silence, the Bann spoke. "I know how you feel, Commander," he said as he turned his friendly gaze to her.

"Please," Adela begged, "Just Adela. Commander is…well, that's just not me."

Chuckling, he bowed his head. "Adela. My thanks." He turned his eyes to the Chantry doors, where stood Ser Belmont, the knight who had arrived earlier with injuries, guarding the entrance. "I can hear the battle raging outside. And, yet I remain behind those doors." He turned back to her. "While you and your companions fight for this village, I remain hidden away." His face frowned. "I feel almost…cowardly for doing so."

Adela placed a hand on his arm. "Not cowardly, Bann Teagan," she replied. "You are the last line of defense for these people. Without you," her arm swept to indicate a small group of children, huddled with the revered mother, who was telling them a story at this moment. "these people would feel more despaired than they already do." She smiled. "Keeping their spirits from completely failing is necessary for their survival as well."

Gratitude spread across his handsome face, and the Bann took one of Adela's small hands in his. Kissing the knuckles gently, he murmured, "My thanks, Adela." A grin. "And, please, call me Teagan."

She bowed her head, accepting the invitation. Then, giving the Bann's hand a squeeze, she rose, unsteadily, to her feet. Teagan rose with her, placing a concerned hand under her elbow. Taking several deep breaths, the elf nodded to the Bann, who released her. Glancing around, making certain Wynne was no where to be seen, the elf walked to the huge double doors. The knight standing guard bowed to her and opened the doors to allow her to exit.

DA:O

"Easy, laddie," Murdock placed a gnarled hand on the younger man's arm, pulling him to a stop, urging him to calm down. Alistair glanced at the hand, and stopped. The mayor continued. "She took a little damage from one of those corpses, and the mage in the Chantry is healing her now." The older man's gravelly voice rumbled through Alistair's head. "She's a tough little one, and I'm sure she'll be fine. Just give it a bit."

The wind changed direction just briefly and the pungent smell of burning flesh assailed his nostrils. Both men winced, bringing hands to their faces. The wind shifted again, carrying the odor along.

The doors opened behind them, and Alistair's relief was palpable as he watched Adela step through, her bow back in hand. She paused briefly, surveying the carnage, taking note that none of the militiamen lay dead upon the ground. Her eyes, tired, fixed upon Alistair's face, and she smiled. The young man smiled back at her, watching as she stepped to his side. She bowed her thanks once again to the mayor, who merely chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. Three pairs of eyes turned toward the horizon.

The sky was lightening, dawn's promise just within an hour's reach.

DA:O

The Sten growled in his native tongue, his sharp blade taking the head of the nearest walking corpse from its neck. Growling, he spun to sweep aside several more of the undead menace.

Arrows sped in a steady stream from the Orlesian's bow, their flaming enchantments burning holes into their targets where they hit. She glanced over her shoulder, taking note of her dwindling supply. Berwick, his own arrows having long since been spent, had taken sword and dagger in hand and was attacking those corpses that had gotten past the warriors and threatened the archers.

Roland and Ser Perth found themselves back to back, surrounded by a dozen of the putrid foes. Roland darted forward, his shield bashing into and smashing the face of one, while his sword found the chest of another. Ser Perth's greatsword swung overhead, cleaving down to slice one foe from head to gullet, twisting to send the thing to the ground.

This last wave of foes had been relentless, and several of the defenders died, torn and ravaged within the pass. Roland avoided all thought of the need to burn their corpses once the dawn rose, lest they, too, rise to join the ranks of the undead.

The last of the corpses surrounding the two knights fell. Ser Perth clapped a heavy hand to the younger man's shoulder as Roland raised his eyes to the horizon.

Over which the sun was rising.


	19. Chapter 19

_I own nothing save for Adela. Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. This chapter is a bit longer than anticipated, and that's after cutting some stuff out! _

_As always, thank you all for the reviews: mutive, Biff McLaughlin, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Windchime68 . And thanks to everyone who has been alerting and favoriting this as well. You have no idea how much this means! Reviews & even concrit *shudders* welcome (my feelings won't be too awfully hurt)._

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 19_

It was still early when the final walking corpse had been slain, and the dead burned. The bright sunshine had difficulty piercing the smoke heavy air, and so the atmosphere had an almost surreal cast to it.

Adela and her party stood upon the steps of the Chantry, alongside Bann Teagan and the Revered Mother. The priest gave prayer, giving thanks to the Maker. And, truly, they had been fortunate. They had lost only a few knights and Dwyn's mercenaries (although the dwarf himself had survived). None of the militiamen had been killed, although several had endured severe injuries. Both mages were exhausted from both the battle and healing the wounded - those from the previous night's battles as well as those of prior nights. Once the prayers had been finalized, the villagers disbursed, some returning to their homes, others too exhausted or frightened to do so and so went back into the Chantry.

Teagan turned to the Wardens' party, gratitude radiating from his handsome, yet tired features. "Again, I must offer my thanks to you, my dear lady," he took one of Adela's small hands into his own. "The Maker smiled upon us when he sent you here."

Flushing slightly, the elf shook her head. "We were happy to be of assistance, Ba-Teagan," she quickly amended, grinning.

Smiling at her slip, the Bann replied, "We will still need to gain entrance to the castle," his gaze swept over the exhausted forms of the party, "however, I would suggest that you and your companions get some rest. Meet me at the mill," he pointed to where the knights and Roland's group had been stationed the night prior, "at mid-day. I have a plan for getting inside the castle."

With those words, the Bann walked off, seeking his own rest.

Adela watched as Morrigan, Wynne and Leliana headed back into the Chantry to find resting places. The Sten had moved off to lie beneath a nearby tree, resting his massive back against the trunk, closing his eyes. Roland was sitting on the steps quietly, his green eyes surveying the courtyard.

She turned to Alistair, who was by her side, and gave his arm a pat, asking him to find a spot to rest. He merely smiled at her and sat down on the stone rail of the chantry steps. Grinning at him, she turned to go over to where the red haired knight sat, missing the look that her fellow Warden gave her.

Adela's shadow fell upon the knight, and he looked up at her with a small smile. Taking a seat beside him, Adela reached over and patted his clasped hands. "Are you alright, Roland?" she asked, unable to hide the concern she felt from her voice.

Shifting his hands to enclose hers, he nodded. "I'll admit to being very tired this day," he responded, smiling at her. "But, as frightening as it was facing those monsters, it was also exhilarating." His smile widened into a full faced grin. "I had forgotten how good it felt to actually do something so worthwhile." His eyes skimmed over the village, a softening of his face made the elf think he was remembering the events back at Highever. "It felt good to save these people."

She watched his face for several moments, then leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. The knight turned his face to her, but she had already pulled away and was standing. "Go get some rest, Roland," she ordered. "We're going to have to get into the castle later on and find out how bad it is there." She gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, and then turned to go back to where Alistair sat. The knight watched her for a moment, taking in the smile the other man gave her as she approached. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, and then went into the Chantry to find a bedroll.

"How is he?" Alistair asked, tamping down any jealousy he may have felt, knowing his friend had been concerned about the knight.

She shrugged her shoulders, moving to sit against the outer wall of the chantry. Alistair moved from his perch and settled beside her. "He says he is well, and honestly he looks fine," her gaze went to the doors. "I'm probably being a worry wart over nothing."

Chuckling, pulling her to him, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her head, he nodded. "Probably," he agreed. "You know," he said as he bent his head to the side, looking at her profile. "You keep telling us all to get some rest." she looked up into his eyes. "Are you planning on getting any?"

"Hmmm…" she nodded as she rested against him, enjoying the heat that he always seems to emanate. It felt nice in the cool autumn air. "I was planning on resting here, actually. The chantry is too full and rather stuffy." She closed her eyes, relaxing.

Alistair chuckled, and she felt it vibrate through her. "Okay, okay," he relaxed against the cool stone. "I guess I've been relegated to cushion, eh?"

Nodding, the elf dozed off, completely safe and warm in Alistair's arms.

Alistair sat, staring down at the elf that was sleeping so peacefully in his arm. He found himself wondering, and not for the first time, at just how easy it was for the two of them to be together. Whether they were talking, fighting, or simply sitting. The ex-templar, who was shy around women and had been for all of his life, found it so easy to reach over to her and pull her into a hug or, as now, sit with her snuggled on his lap. By all rights, she, too, should be uncomfortable in his presence, and yet, she seemed to have the same sense of ease as he did. He gently bent to kiss her lightly on the forehead, smiling as she twitched a little. Then, shifting and adjusting himself against the wall, Alistair allowed himself to fall into an easy doze, getting what rest he could until they had to face whatever lay within the castle that had been his childhood home.

DA:O

Teryn Rendon Howe was not pleased. He paced back and forth in Arawn's chambers, glaring at Ser Cauthrien, who looked on with mild irritation.

"Where is she?" he demanded to the ceiling. Cauthrien merely rolled her eyes, glancing at the door. She was wondering more along the lines of where was _he_?

The knight turned to watch the Teryn as he paced back and forth. "We should have word on her whereabouts soon," she tried to assure the man, if for no other reason than for him to stop his idiotic pacing. "The Cousland is nothing if not resourceful."

Howe stopped, giving his compatriot a hard look. Cauthrien met that look with a level stare. "Arawn would know if there was a problem concerning her," the knight remarked, not truly knowing why she was trying to calm the irritable man. Maybe his pacing was just getting to her.

It seemed to work, and Howe ceased his pacing and threw himself into a nearby chair. "And of course Loghain continues to be difficult." Cauthrien raised a brow at that. _Of course he was,_ she thought bitterly. _He was Loghain, not some trumped up nobleman whining he deserved more!_

"What has happened?" she asked, more curious about the welfare of her former commander than any real reason to help Howe sort anything out, her eyes scanning over the opulent room while the Teryn gathered his thoughts.

"I think that he has figured out that his wine has been tainted," he responded, a scowl on his hawk like face. "He has been refusing to eat or drink lately." He rose. "If he continues in that manner, he will be of no further use to us!" He slammed a fist onto a nearby table, rocking the vase of flowers that stood upon it.

The door nearby swung open, admitting a familiar figure. Cauthrien's already ramrod straight posture straightened out a bit more, while Howe's countenance of superior frustration now held a hint of fear.

The man who entered stood tall, taller than Howe, taller than Cauthrien. A well muscled and well formed body - broad shoulders, narrow at the hip - covered with the attire of a nobleman, he moved with the grace of a warrior. Blond hair, cut to above his shoulders, the front locks braided, shone in the lamplight. His face was handsome and well proportioned, with a wide mouth, high cheekbones and strong nose. He seemed like any other nobleman save for one difference: his eyes were the color of blood.

Howe swallowed, uncomfortable as always in the presence of the blood mage. Cauthrien stifled a smirk at that. The Teryn had thought himself in charge of this, however, truly it was the mage who now stood in their midst.

The mage's red eyes settled upon a portrait on the opposite wall. Taking in the details of the handsome man portrayed therein, sword held point first to the ground, dressed most regally, those unsettling eyes narrowed in absolute hatred. He turned back to his fellows.

"Is there a problem, Howe?" the mage asked, his voice containing a low, predatory quality to it that always sent shivers up Cauthrien's spine.

"We must find other means to control Loghain," the Teryn complained. "And ways to find to feed him as well as he now knows that he has been being poisoned."

Arawn's eyes narrowed. _Of course he would figure it out_! The mage was tempted to let the old man die, let him starve himself. They had Anora after all. She could prove far more amiable…

His thoughts drifted slightly, and then he shook his head. No. He felt that the general was still needed. Anora alone would not instill the confidence in the nobles that he needed. He turned to the others.

"I have means to control our good Teryn," he replied smoothly, stepping to stand directly under the portrait he hated. "See to it that food it brought to the old fool," he did not turn his head as he gave the orders. "and let me know when it is delivered." Then he turned, his voice taking on an almost purring tone. "I am…certain that I can convince him that it would be in everyone's best interest for him to cooperate."

Bowing, the knight and Teryn left the room. Arawn continued to stare up at the portrait, into the face that was so very much like his own.

"Soon," he whispered to the man portrayed there, the one he hated above all else. "Soon I shall have what is rightfully mine."

DA:O

When he was thinking, he paced.

When he was irritated, he paced.

When he had nothing else he could do, he paced.

Loghain stared with baleful eyes at the food laden tray the servants brought in to him. Did they really think he would continue to poison himself at their demand?

He glanced around his room, taking note of the barred windows (as if he could really attempt an escape several stories above ground?) and the ever locked door.

He grumbled an obscenity at the door.

He resumed his pacing.

His thoughts were a jumble, and he had trouble forming coherent thoughts. He felt the poison he had been ingesting was leaving his system, but it still remained. Still made its tainted presence within his blood known. A familiar pressure brushed against his chest, and he brought a hand up to the ivory Halla figurine he wore on a chain around his neck. His fist closed around the charm and he bowed his head, willing himself to remember that she was dead.

A snarl escaped his lips, and he resumed his pacing. He wondered how his daughter fared in all of this.

The sound of his door unlocking brought him around, watching as the door opened and an unknown man walked in. The Teryn noticed first the fine cut of the garments the man wore, how well they fit his warrior's form. He could not be blamed for the startled gasp that almost escaped his lips as his eyes settled upon a face that was far too familiar for comfort. The blood red eyes peering over at him reminded him of the first time they were acquainted, an involuntary chill coursing through his veins.

The younger man watched him, his eyes revealing nothing; the only emotion on his face was one of mild amusement as he gazed upon the older man. Loghain returned that stare, allowing a hint of malice to shine therein, fully aware of the power his own gaze held. The other man - the mage - however, did not flinch, and he only seemed more amused with each passing moment.

"So," Loghain began, his voice calm, icy, "do we stand here staring at one another, or are you going to tell me, finally, what it is you want?"

A blond brow rose at that, another indication of amusement. "Want?" even his voice was frighteningly familiar, and it caused Loghain's heart to clench. _Maric? What had you done? _The man wearing Maric's face merely smiled, and even that was so like the dead king's. "I want you, my dear Teryn, to cooperate and retain your strength." He indicated the tray of food with a graceful hand. "It would not do well for you to allow yourself to become enfeebled, now, would it?"

Loghain snorted. "I suppose your concern for my health is clearly a genuine concern for my wellbeing." It was not a question, and sarcasm punctuated each word spoken.

That grin again, the grin that had been so charming and disarming upon Maric's face took on a different quality when graced beneath eyes the color of blood. Striding further into the room, the door shut tight behind him, the mage stepped closer to the older man. He moved as a warrior, and Loghain could not help but think of him as a mage in a warrior's body. They now stood, nearly nose to nose. The closer he was, the more Loghain could see Maric in the man. More so than even in Cailan. Or that _other _bastard, the one who had the sense to die at Ostagar. There was no doubt in his mind that this was a son of Maric, although it was difficult to tell the man's age, he guessed him to be only a year or so younger than Cailan. His voice had the accent of a Fereldan, but was highly educated. If he was a mage, perhaps he had been at the Tower….

The mage watched as the thoughts crossed Loghain's mind. Although Loghain was very good at concealing his emotions, the sheer shock of what he now faced allowed some of those thoughts to be revealed in his eyes, upon the stoic features of his face. "You wonder how it is that I have come about, now, do you not?" There was something about his sentence structure that struck the Teryn odd. Almost Orlesian in quality, but not quite. Riviani? No. The man before him was too fair to have a parent from that country.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he said, bowing with a flourish. "My name is Arawn Amell, formerly a mage from the Circle Tower here in Fereldan." His smile took on a decidedly less friendly twist. "My father, King Maric, met my mother here, at the palace." He turned away, not watching the other man's face as he spoke. "She was a diplomat from Navarra, of one of the noble houses. I believe that Queen Rowan was heavy with child at that time." He turned back, obviously pleased by the slight look of anger that was now upon Loghain's face. "One thing led to another, and, as they say, here I am." He now frowned. "My mother was bringing me here, to meet my dear father, when I was of age and had a resemblance to the young prince. Foolish Templars stopped us and the rest is history." He strode forward, eyes flashing. "I managed to escape the tower some years ago, and have managed to do quite well for myself."

"What do you want?" Loghain growled out.

Arawn turned, smiling. "Why, merely my birthright, of course."

"Mages cannot inherit," Loghain pointed out, a bit smugly.

The mage merely shrugged. "Oh, so true. So, very, very true. But, as you are well aware from your time battling the Orlesians," he stepped forward, raising a hand, "there are ways around everything."

Loghain's eyes narrowed. Howe obviously had some part in this. As did Cauthrien. "Where is my daughter?" he dared ask, concern for her well being rising in him.

"Ah," Arawn turned away, picking a grape from the food tray. "The beautiful queen is well," he looked up as he popped the fruit into his mouth. "For now. She has been proving difficult, and is only restrained with she receives visits from you." His eyes hardened, the smile was gone.

No memories of visiting Anora came to him, and Loghain knew a moment of despair at that. Arawn smiled at that. "Ah, no doubt you have no memories." he shrugged as though it was no matter. "That is of no consequence. Needless to say, if you do not keep your strength up, your visits to your daughter will cease. And, then," he stepped forward, purpose in every stride, "the more difficult she becomes, the less we have need of her."

His back straightened. "You cannot kill the queen of Fereldan!" he scoffed, not backing down and allowing this impudent upstart to unbalance him.

Arawn stepped forward, standing fully an inch taller than the warrior. "You and I both know that she is deeply in mourning for her husband," he said quietly, menace within each word. "That she could become so distraught that…things, unpleasant things, could well happen." He turned away, unafraid to turn his back to the man whose daughter he had just threatened. "How could we have known that, in her grief, she sought to join him beyond the Fade?"

Now standing beside the table, Arawn's chilling gaze held Loghain's eyes. "All you have to do is make certain you retain your strength," he indicted the food. Then, with a narrowing of red eyes, he stepped forward. "I have other means to make you comply, _Loghain_." he nearly spat the Teryn's name. "Far less pleasant means, which I am certain you are aware of." He stood, watching as the other man digested that information. _By use of blood magic._ The mage did not need to say it. The threat was clear.

Blue eyes settled on the food tray. He had suspected Howe and Cauthrien had been poisoning him, and that was why he had so few memories of what had happened since before Ostagar. Now, this bastard of Maric had all but said so. If Loghain complied, what harm was he doing to Fereldan? His gaze shifted away, to the barred window. If he did not comply, his daughter would be dead. Turning back to the blood mage, he knew there was no doubt of that. With Howe now installed as Teryn of Highever (his eyes closed at the thought of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland dead), he would well be the next option for the throne. He opened his eyes, fixing them upon the tray.

So, why did they need to keep Anora alive? Loghain needed time to figure it out. But, if he ate the tainted food, drank the poisoned wine, how long before his next bout of lucidity?

Many minutes of silence reigned. Heavy lids closed over icy eyes. He needed more time, but it was not in the offering at this moment. Perhaps later…patience, it would seem, would be the order for now.

Nodding once in resignation, the man stepped to the table, picked up the goblet of wine, and drank it down.

DA:O

Having been able to garner a couple hours of rest, a quick meal and even quicker sponge bath, Adela and her companions found themselves by the mill, facing the castle. Alistair stood oddly silent as Bann Teagan outlined what he had in mind.

"I most likely should have mentioned it earlier," he conceded after telling Adela of the tunnels the led under the lake to the lower basements of the castle. "However, I had been unsure at that time if you would still assist the village." He frowned, bowing deeply at the waist. "I apologize for judging so ill of you, my lady."

Her eyes on the castle, the elf merely nodded. "I can understand your decision, Teagan," she shifted her gaze to meet his. "Although personally I probably should be insulted," she said this with a grin, taking the sting from her words. "The village needed to be saved."

Rising from his bow, the Bann responded, "I thank you, dear lady. You are far more gracious than some would be." His eyes lifted, squinting. "Maker's Breath!" he exclaimed, pointing behind the group.

As one, the party turned, watching as a well dressed woman of mid-years skipped towards them, followed closely by one of Ser Perth's men. Adela noticed that Alistair's face tensed up and he looked away from the woman as she approached. Frowning, Adela watched the woman as she hurried to Teagan's side.

"Teagan!" the noblewoman exclaimed, her heavy Orlesian accent pitched in a high whine grating to the elf's ears. "Thank the Marker you yet live!"

"Isolde?" Teagan turned, taking her hands in his. "What? How is that you survived? Where is Eamon? How…?"

"We have no time for this, Teagan," the way she carried out the Bann's name was annoying as well. Where Leliana's Orlesian accent was rather sweet and delicate, this woman's was just grating. Shaking her head, Adela stepped forward.

"What is happening at the castle?" she asked, not bothering with introductions. The less the Orlesian noblewoman spoke, the better.

"What?" the human turned, briefly looking Adela over and then dismissing her in one glance. She turned back to Teagan. "Who is this…woman?" she asked of the Bann.

It was Alistair who replied. "You remember me, Lady Isolde." The tired resignation that resounded from his voice almost broke Adela's heart.

Isolde turned, glaring at the young man. "Alistair? Of all the…what are you doing here?" her tone of voice was imperious, haughty, as though speaking with the young man was beneath her. Adela bristled; showing an elf disdain was one thing the young elven woman was used to; but to so dismiss Alistair? She decided she liked this Orlesian even less.

"Isolde," the Bann wisely drew the Arlessa's attention back to him, sparing Alistair any further disdain. "Alistair is now a Grey Warden, and this," he indicated Adela with a gentle wave of his hand, "is the Commander of the Grey within Fereldan."

The Arlessa turned her eyes back to the elf, obviously not impressed with what she saw. To Adela it did not matter; she had no intention of trying to impress an Orlesian noblewoman of anything. Meeting the human woman's eyes, Adela allowed her gaze to harden. The human woman seemed slightly nonplussed that an elf would look so boldly into her eyes. She broke the gaze first, bowing her head slightly. "I apologize," she said quietly, "I do not mean to be rude, but," here she turned back to Teagan, "I…I need you to return with me to the castle, Teagan." She paused. "Alone."

"No," Adela said in a clear, firm voice. Both human nobles turned to her. "That is out of the question."

"I beg your pardon!" Isolde sputtered, "Who are you to make such a decision?"

"I am the Commander of the Grey," Adela spoke up. "And we," she indicated her companions with a back sweep of her hand, "are the people who just saved your village from an onslaught of hungry undead." her blue eyes narrowed at this. "You have given no sign of concern whatsoever for the villagers and their fates. And, now you want us to just blithely let you take the Bann to the castle? The same castle that all of those monsters came from?" She shook her blond head, her arms crossing her chest. "Not without an explanation."

"I…I…" she turned to Teagan, who had been watching Adela with interest as she spoke. "I don't know what to say. There is an…evil within the castle, Teagan," she turned, pouting her full lips at him. "It keeps Eamon alive, allows Connor and myself to live, but I don't know why. I fear for Connor's safety." She wrung her delicate hands in front of her, obviously playing up being helpless and weak.

Adela found she couldn't listen. The Orlesian's accent was giving her a headache, and she could tell Alistair was greatly uncomfortable in the woman's presence. While Isolde and Teagan discussed his going to back to the castle, she turned, placing a hand on her fellow warden's arm. He managed a weak smile at her that did not reach his eyes. Frowning, she turned back at the lull in the conversation between the two nobles.

"Lady Isolde," Adela caught the human's attention. "What, exactly, is this evil you spoke of?"

The noblewoman shrugged slightly. "I do not know," she admitted. "A…presence? Something the mage unleashed!" she declared.

"Mage?" she hadn't mentioned that before. "What mage?"

"One of the staff, an…infiltrator. He apparently had poisoned Eamon."

"Eamon's been poisoned?" Teagan nearly shouted, "Why didn't you mention this before, Isolde?" he demanded, grasping her arms and turning her about.

The woman seemed on the verge of tears, "I am unsure of what is safe to say, Teagan! Please, I need your help! For Connor's sake! If the…thing in the castle thinks I am betraying it, it could harm Connor!" Now she was reduced to tears, her hands covering her face. "You must return with me alone." she whimpered.

Teagan, his patience clearly at an end with the woman, gently patted her shoulder, telling her that he would return with her and told her to wait by the gates for him. He turned to Adela's displeased expression.

"It may well be a trap, my friend," he conceded, "but this is my family we are talking about. However," he pulled a ring from his finger. "The tunnel I spoke of has its entrance here," he waved toward the mill, "in the cellar of the mill. This signet ring," he placed this into Adela's hands, "will open the door." He closed his hands over Adela's much smaller ones, tugging them gently. "Please, my friend. If there is anyway to save whoever is left at the castle, I fear it may well be only you who can do so."

Staring at their hands, feeling the warm metal clutched between her fingers, the elf nodded, raising her head. "Very well Teagan," she agreed. "We will get into the castle." She looked around to where Ser Perth and his knights stood. "Maybe once we are inside Ser Perth and his knights can get in as well."

"My thanks, dear Lady," he raised one hand and brushed her knuckles lightly to his lips, and then left to follow after the Arlessa.

Frowning heavily, not liking the possibility that they were all walking into a trap, the elf sighed, turning to look at her companions. With a heavy sigh and a shrug of her shoulders, she led them into the mill to search out the tunnel entrance.

DA:O

The mill, having long ago been abandoned of its purpose, smelled of old and dusty grain. Brushing aside loose bales of hay and dry grains, the group found the trap door that would lead to the cellars. Adela went down the ladder first, watching with careful eyes as her more heavily armored companions made their careful and cautious way down the ladder as well. Brushing aside cob webs, the elf led her band through the room, to a stone wall encasing a heavy door. The door unlocked once the signet ring was placed within the locking mechanism and twisted around once. It took Alistair and the Sten to push the door open, revealing a webbed and dusty corridor, leading out under the lake's waterbed.

The air in the corridor was humid and oppressive. It dipped down for many yards. The tunnel was well crafted; although there was a dampness to the walls, there was no trickling of water (which did much to ease the elf's nerves), no obvious structural flaws that would indicate that the lake above them would come rushing down, crushing them beneath its weight. Still, the walls felt too close for the elf, and she remembered her mother once telling her that the Elvhenan were not meant for enclosures, but were born and bred to run free without confines. There was obviously a great deal of truth to her mother's words.

After a silly remark by Alistair about having locked himself in a cage as a young child (Roland laughed out loud at that one while Morrigan scoffed at his intelligence), the group passed through a second door, encountering several more of the walking dead. Morrigan cast a quick ice spell, freezing several of them in place as the Sten smashed one to pieces with his great sword. Alistair and Roland bashed two others, felling those without the need of their swords. Despite the corridor being narrow, Leliana and Adela were able to effectively shoot down several of them before they could make it to the rest of their party.

"Maker, I hate those things!" Adela ranted as she replaced her bow to her shoulder.

Chuckling, Alistair nudged her, "Yes, they're not really the cute and cuddly kinds of monsters, now, are they?"

Scowling at him, she led the group further down the corridor.

They passed through several doors, and fought off more of the undead. At the last door, they found a young man locked in a cell. After a discussion it was revealed that this young man was the mage that Isolde had mentioned. He admitted to being a blood mage and that Lady Isolde had hired him to help teach Connor magic in secrecy. Also revealed was that he had, upon a direct order of Loghain (Adela's heart almost stopped at this, for the young mage told of a meeting _with _the Teryn), poisoned the Arl, Adela made the decision to leave the mage caged in his cell for the time being. Morrigan disagreed wholeheartedly with that decision, but Adela made it clear that the decision had not been put to a vote. With a curt nod to the mage, the elf led the group from the cellars and up into the castle.

The stairwell opened into a small room in which were piled crates and sacks. An investigation of these produced mundane items such as parchments, cloth and other non-essentials.

Alistair pushed open the door, and found that it opened to a hallway. He frowned, as he could not recall where this hall led to. With a backward glance, the Warden stepped from the room, followed closely by his fellow Warden and their companions.

They had entered a great chamber that apparently was the castle's chantry. Pews lined both sides of the room, and a dais with podium stood at the front wall. Adela, leading the way, looked around, eyes settling upon the rear door. With a shrug, she turned to leave the chamber when a group of four shades - demon like creatures without true form or substance - materialized in their midst.

Adela's bow was useless with the shades so close. She unsheathed her daggers, and ducked beneath the sweeping claws of the demonic creatures. Dancing aside, she rounded behind one monster, sweeping out with both daggers, cutting into the smoke-like hide of the spirit. A low growl emitted from a non-existent mouth, and it spun quickly, swinging out and clubbing the elf on her shoulder. Grimacing, she skittered back, bringing a dagger up to block a blow while diving her other blade low and out, sinking into where its abdomen would be. Another growl, higher pitched this time, betrayed the pain she delivered it. Dancing around, ducking down, the elf spun and clipped her blades out, slicing into it, carving small bits of it away as she sought to drive it down. Another claw raked out, slicing a gash across her collarbone. Blood dripped from the wound, and she bit back a cry of pain as she stumbled away from it. The pain eased as she felt the warming power of Wynne's healing spell pour over her.

Alistair saw, from the corner of his eye, the shade swipe out and connect with Adela. Roland stepped forward, bashing his shield into the face of the shade he and Alistair had been battling. As Roland's sword dug into the main part of its form, Alistair turned, stepping behind Adela's adversary, swinging his blade, slicing through its neck. With a gurgling sigh, the shade dissipated into nothingness. With a small smile to the elf, the human Warden turned back to his original adversary.

The Sten's greatsword cleaved downward, slicing into his adversary's shoulder and through its chest. A chill went up his blade and through his gauntlets. With a war cry in his native tongue, the giant Qunari yanked his blade back and out from the misty form, giving a mighty swing to slice into its side, his great strength giving the swing momentum to continue through its side and chest, and out its other side. A crackling sound, like the crackling of a great glacial monument, resounded in the room and the shade vanished into an icy swirl.

Alistair and Roland continued to bash and slash at their opponent, a giant of a shade that would have towered over their Qunari companion. As one warrior bashed his shield into it, the other would swing his sword, cutting into its body. Neither found easy strikes, however, as icy tendrils of weakness would seep into their bodies whenever the shade garnered a strike upon one of them. A warm, tingling sensation flowed through their extremities, and both warriors knew that Wynne had cast a rejuvenating spell upon each of them. Revitalized, the pair continued to bash and hack at the monstrosity. Words of power spilled from Morrigan's lips, and she cast weakness spells and hexes at the beast, aware that any of her ice spells would most likely revitalize the demon rather than cause it any harm.

The Sten faced off against the fourth shade, this one crackling with lightening and standing as tall as the Qunari himself. The giant warrior growled out to his opponent, sweeping his great blade across, seeking to slice the thing's head from its broad shoulders. This one was more agile than its fellows, and swept backwards with ease. The giant's blade only cut through air.

Adela, noting the Sten's frustration with his adversary, stepped behind the monster, sweeping into the shadows from its own body. The spark of electricity coursed through her, and she gasped as it rushed through her blood. Gritting her teeth, she stepped forward, toward the electrically charged body, driving both blades point first in front of her. With a snarl, she penetrated the tough hide, twisting her grip, and then ripping the blades out its sides. The shade bucked backwards, knocking her from her feet and onto her back. The shade spun to lash out at the fallen elf; the Sten took advantage of its distraction, swinging his blade out and around, decapitating the fiend. Lightening crackled, and the form vanished.

As the Sten's foe fell, so, too did the shade Roland and Alistair battled. They bent at the waist, catching their breath, as the Sten bent down to lend a hand to Adela and offer her a hand up. Offering the giant a smile, she gratefully accepted his help, and stood upon unsteady feet. There was no sign of any of the shades they had just defeated.

They passed through a corridor, checking each room they passed for more undead or demonic creatures. Battling and prevailing against one particularly tough group in a small dining alcove, and then finding it necessary to put down several rabid mabari, the group came upon a frightened young woman who introduced herself as Valena. Adela recognized her as the smith's daughter. Frowning, she glanced back the way they came. She was certain they had eradicated all of the creatures on their way through, but she was not willing to entrust this young woman's life with that. With a sigh, she ordered the Sten and Morrigan to escort her back to the village, with orders that they then meet up with Ser Perth and his knights. Each bestowing the elf with a heavy scowl, the pair left with the frightened girl.

Two short, the group entered the kitchen area. There they battled several undead, but the battle did not take long as these undead seemed weaker than others encountered. The door to the main hall was locked, and neither Leliana nor Adela could pick the lock. The women frowned at one another, offering to each a shrug. It wasn't often when they encountered a lock neither of them could penetrate.

Okay then…Adela stood, casting her eyes to the door she knew entered the kitchen itself. She then looked over her companions. Everyone was tired and sporting more than a few wounds from their previous encounters. Having to take the long way around to the main chamber just wasn't something she wanted to subject them all to. She glanced back at the offending lock. Telling everyone to be prepared, as she was certain they would encounter more undead, she went to the kitchen door and flung it open.

A steady stream of arrows erupted from Leliana's bow as the elf swung to the back of the advancing group, pulling down her own weapon and swiftly notching an arrow, sending forth her own stream of missiles.

Alistair raced to the center of the undead hoard that greeted them in the kitchens, deftly knocking aside any of the reaching claws with blade and shield. With his war cry "For the Grey Wardens!" he pulled back and then slammed his shield into the face of one near perfectly preserved corpse, sending it flying back and into the cold fire pit. He then swung out his sword, slicing fingers and arms from those undead reaching for him. He almost smiled as Wynne's rejuvenating spell swept over him, warming his joints and muscles.

Roland ducked the swipe of poisonous claws as a near skeletal corpse rounded on his, teeth gnashing and claws grasping. Pulling away, he spun low, swinging his sword out, cutting the creature's legs out from under it. As it toppled to the ground, he stood, sending his sword down like a pendulum, swiping the thing's head from its shoulders. Fully aware of where his fellow swordsman was (ahead of him) he straightened, swinging his sword out wide from him, keeping his shield close, as he spun, slicing easily into necks and chests of those creatures surrounding him. An arrow lodged into the eye of a corpse rising behind the young knight, staggering it back. With a quick jab to its heart, and a second and third arrow driving into its face, the thing fell over dead. The young man turned to give Adela an appreciative smile as she notched an arrow to dispatch the final standing dead.

The kitchen opened to a larder, and from there led to the pantry and cellars below. Alistair explained that the cellars would open up into the main courtyard and, there, they could open the main gates to allow Ser Perth and his men (hopefully, along with the Sten and Morrigan) entry. With a nod, the elf led the group from the larder, down into the pantry, and then out the cellar, into the courtyard.

The main gate was, indeed, closed. Adela could see Ser Perth and his knights - a half dozen - along with their errant witch and Qunari warrior. She rushed to the lever that would unlock the gates and allow the knights to push the portcullis upwards. Alistair and Roland were already engaged with skeletons that had seemingly sprung from the ground. Ser Perth's group rushed in and, as the elf turned, she spied from the corner of her eye a heavily armored, towering form of an undead warrior. A revenant. The warden's group had encountered one at the Circle Tower, and that one had been difficult to defeat. This one appeared taller, stronger, and wielding a heavy two handed sword. She heard a shout from the Sten as the huge warrior surged forward to engage his own heavy sword against the undead knight's. With spell and blade the revenant fought against the Qunari warrior. Adela, seeing that her companions and the knights were handling the other undead with ease, shot arrows enchanted with fire at the undead knight, sending it stumbling back when she hit a particular spot on its armor. The Sten's blade would then cut down, grinding across the blacked metal of its armor, catching along a seem and tearing it apart. A fire arrow would then find home in the rent, injuring the creature further.

Leliana's stream of arrows took out each of the half dozen skeletal archers from atop the stairway. The warriors efficiently took care of the shambling corpses and fast moving undead while the mages either healed, rejuvenated or otherwise provided magical back up to keep the warriors on their feet. The Orlesian turned and saw the monstrosity that the Sten and Adela were battling. Noting that the elven archer used her fire arrows, the Orlesian pulled hers free. Moving to a position nearer Adela, she carefully notched an arrow and let it fly.

Wynne sent healing and rejuvenating spells over the tiring, and heavily wounded, Qunari. Roland and Alistair rushed to add their blades to bringing the thing down. Morrigan stepped back, sending an icy covering over the revenant, slowing it down somewhat. Now, with the addition of more arrows, blades and spells, the undead knight fell in a clattering heap.

Regrouping with Ser Perth and his knights, the band wearily walked up the great stone steps and entered the castle.

The first thing they noticed upon re-entering the castle was that this part did not stink of death as much as the kitchen areas had, but had a stronger sense of _wrongness _to it. The main entry opened into the main hall, where the rulers of Redcliffe would meet dignitaries and other guests. Ahead, at the back of the room, stood a grand fireplace, in front of which, upon a small dais, stood a small throne like chair. And, seated upon that chair, flanked by a weeping Isolde and a ridiculously cavorting Teagan was a young boy, of perhaps ten winters, dirty, disheveled, and with a decidedly cat-that-ate-the-mouse look upon his too young face. Behind them stood several corpses dressed in house guard armor.

Adela and Ser Perth walked in, side by side. Alistair walked directly behind her, followed closely by their other companions. Ser Perth's knights took up positions along the walls, their weapons in hand. The young boy's brown eyes followed their progress before him, amusement sparkling in his eyes. Isolde's sobs quieted, and she looked upon the group with hope gleaming from her eyes. Teagan's demeanor reminded the elf of a court jester in both mannerism and speech. She turned her attention back to the child, who seemed to be the puppet master, if his superior smile held any clue.

"Maker's Breath!" Ser Perth swore, staring at the still corpses that lined the wall along the fire pit. "What happened here?" the question really did not beg an answer.

"Mother," the young boy - Connor - called to get his mother's attention, "who is it, Mother?" his eyes squinted at the group before him. "I can't see it very well."

"This," Isolde said, her voice weak, "this is an elf, Connor." she waved a hand in Adela's direction. "We have them here at the castle."

"An elf! An elf!" Teagan exclaimed, rolling his eyes at the Wardens, a stupid grin on his face. Adela winced, feeling pity for the noble man.

"Quiet, Uncle!" Connor scolded, leaping from his perch and slapping his uncle across the face. "I've warned you about shouting, now, haven't I?" Teagan cowered back, whispering "an elf".

The boy turned his attention back to the group. "Now, now," he peered forward, "I can see her clearly now." his smile widened, almost impossibly so. "Hmmm…a pretty thing, isn't she, Mother?" he turned his eyes to Isolde, "far prettier than you ever were." He looked back to Adela, who was watching him with great interest. "Perhaps you should order her flogged, eh, Mother. For being prettier, and younger, and probably even nicer than you," he jumped up and down, clapping. "Yes, yes! A good flogging would help to keep me entertained." Behind her, both Alistair and Roland stiffened; she kept her eyes on the boy. "What say you, _elf_?" he turned back to Adela. "Did you come here to keep me entertained?" he asked almost hopefully. "These," his wave encompassed his mother, uncle and the dead along the walls, "are just so boring."

"I'm here to see Arl Eamon," Adela replied in an even voice.

A downtrodden "Oh," answered that comment, and the boy hung his head as though truly upset, "but Father is so very ill." His smile brightened. "But _She _keeps him alive. All for just a small price, a small price indeed."

Here Morrigan stepped to Adela, "The boy has made a bargain with a demon," she advised, her yellow eyes firmly upon the boy before the. "'Twill not end well, certain of that I am," she looked at the elf briefly, allowing Adela to see how serious she was. The elf nodded.

"I think that perhaps we really should be speaking with Connor," Adela said, keeping her voice calm and level, although she really was not certain of the outcome here. Morrigan's very tone, remembering what happened at the Tower, all spoke that this child would soon be dead.

"No!" the demon in boy guise shouted, cutting the air with both hands. "I crave excitement! I want to experience the world! Rule as I should!" his eyes narrowed, and Adela was certain she saw a glow therein. "This woman ruined it all! You will pay!" With those words, the boy rushed off through a side door. The dead along the wall started to move toward them, their weapons and shields rising, Bann Teagan grasped his own sword and shield and, with a great cry, rushed toward the group.

Adela, noting that Isolde cowered on the floor, twisted away from the Bann as Roland's shield came forward to knock him down. With a "don't kill him" tossed to the knight, the elf rushed to the Arlessa's side.

Whatever her personal feelings for the woman - whether due to her treatment of Alistair as a child or because she was an Orlesian - the elf would not allow her to be harmed. Grasping the larger woman's upper arm, the elf pulled her away, pushing her into a nearby closet. "Remain here, Lady Isolde," she said as reassuringly as she could and shut the door, turning just in time to see the sword of one of the dead guard's descend toward her head. With a gasp, she ducked down, dropping to the floor and rolling away.

As she rose, she pulled her daggers from their sheaths at her hips, spinning around with her blades raised, crossed, to catch the longsword at the junction. Twisting her wrists, bringing the blades down, she managed to twist the blade free of the dead hand that wielded it. As the sword dropped to the ground, the elf pulled back, dipping low, then rising to drive both blades into the creature's chest. She twisted the blades, and yanked them back and out, stepping back. Disgust formed on her face at the sight of the black ichor that oozed from the wounds.

The undead guard stumbled, managing to swing its shield up, aiming for the elf's head. The edge of the shield grazed the top of her head as she ducked beneath, grimacing in pain. She ducked lower, driving a dagger into the back of a knee, skating backwards and away as the walking corpse fell to the floor. She rose unsteadily, staggering slightly. The dead man on the floor twisted and wobbled, rather like a turtle on its back. Kneeling, the elf drove her blades deeply into its skull, and its thrashing stilled.

Bann Teagan lay on the floor, unconscious. Seeing that her companions had the other undead nearly defeated, the elf rushed to the human's side, kneeling down, a dagger held at the ready. As the Sten's sword chopped the final undead handily in half, the Bann's eyes fluttered open. A frown on his face, he groaned, raising a hand to his eyes. Smirking slightly, hoping the man did not have memories of how like a puppet Connor had played him, she lent him a hand in rising.

Nodding his gratitude, the Bann's eyes scanned the area. Lady Isolde had left the security of the closet once she heard the sounds of battle had ceased.

Upon close questioning, Lady Isolde acknowledged that she had hired the blood mage currently held in the dungeons below to teach Connor magic in secrecy. When the Arl had fallen ill, that was when strange things had happened. "We thought the mage had summoned the demon and the undead," she sniffed, "but he would not do anything to stop it!"

"Where is this mage now, Isolde?" Teagan, his tone firm and disapproving asked.

"We left him in the dungeons," Adela offered, frowning deeply at the Arlessa, wondering how many people had died because of her fear for her son. How many other mothers' sons had died?

Teagan had volunteered to fetch the mage. Morrigan and Wynne had come closer to the group, and offered their advice on what needed to be done. The Sten stood silently as they all heard the mages advise that the only course of action they were aware of - and that could be accomplished with the group as it was - was to kill the boy. Adela blanched at that thought, and Alistair looked like he was going to be physically ill. Worrying her bottom lip with pearly teeth, the elf turned her attention to Teagan and the man he held firmly by the arm.

"Jowan," Isolde hissed at the mage. "This is all your fault!" she launched herself at the man, her hands extended like claws. Teagan caught hold of her and pulled her behind him.

"I am sorry, Lady Isolde," the young mage apologized, looking contrite. "I am responsible for poisoning the Arl," he admitted, "but I had nothing to do with the demon and the undead."

"How can we be certain of that?" Adela asked, keeping her voice calm, ignoring the sobs that shuddered through the Orlesian noblewoman.

"I think that Connor may have had something to do with that," the blood mage offered, flinching at the look of utter hatred Isolde shot him. "If I had been the one to call upon it, it most likely would have taken hold of me, and not the boy."

A glance back to the mages, seeing them both nod in acknowledgment, Adela turned back to the others. "So, is killing the boy the only option we have of stopping all of this?" she asked, cringing at her own words.

"No," Jowan offered, slightly hopeful. "We can send a mage into the Fade to confront it."

"We don't have the mages or lyrium for that, Jowan," Wynne scolded, disappointed clearly evident in her voice. Jowan flinched; apparently he had known Wynne at the Tower.

"True, but I have…blood magic," he ducked his head down, expecting the verbal assault from his former tutor.

No one was thrilled with that idea, but Adela needed to know. "What, exactly, does that entail, Jowan?" she looked at him in the eye, watching as the young man turned to her.

"Lyrium can power a mage to enter the Fade. It takes quite a lot of it, but it can be done. Since we don't have lyrium, the only other power source would be blood." He frowned, his hands crossing behind his back. "Blood is actually a far more powerful source for magic. However," he stopped and turned, "in order to perform this particular ritual, it would take a lot of blood." He stopped here, frowning, an almost frightened look crossing his face. "Actually, all of it."

"You mean…" Teagan started, than stopped, trying to collect his thoughts. "You mean that someone must be sacrificed?"

Jowan nodded dejectedly. "I'm afraid so." He lifted his head. "It's not much of an option; I should not have said anything."

Adela shook her head. "No. It is not an option. We will not sacrifice anyone else."

Isolde, her sobs ceasing, stepped forward, more resolute than Adela had seen her yet. "If the mage needs blood to save my boy," she stated, her voice firm, "then it shall be my blood." she took a breath. "I shall be the sacrifice!"

"Isolde!" Teagan turned, pulling her back, "you can't do this! Eamon would never…"

"It is my boy, Teagan," Isolde turned and looked her brother-in-law in the eye. "I am his mother. I will do as I must to protect him."

"We do have a willing sacrifice," Morrigan began, frowning. "As distasteful as it may be, 'tis the most likely option."

"Blood magic?" Alistair rounded on the witch, anger in his eyes. "Blood magic is evil!"

"What is more evil, Alistair?" Adela's quiet voice broke in, and the ex-templar turned to watch her with disbelief in his eyes. "The use of blood magic to allow a mother to protect her child, or killing a child for something he had no control over?"

Alistair seemed ready to yell at the elf, decry the use of blood magic, but whatever he was going to say never reached his lips. The look of profound sorrow was etched upon the elf's face. And she was worrying that lip again.

"So it is decided," Isolde said, her voice firm, strong. "I shall be the sacrifice."

Adela shook her head. "No, Lady Isolde," she turned back. "We will not be sacrificing anyone else over this."

"But…" the Arlessa began, but the elf raised a hand to forestall any argument.

"The Tower has mages and lyrium," she advised, relief rushing through her as she spoke the plan as it formed in her mind. "Alone, and traveling lightly, I can reach the Tower within a day." She glanced at her friends, noticing both Roland and Alistair's frowning faces. "I'll leave my party here, to help contain Connor."

Teagan, Isolde and Jowan were in agreement with that plan, the blood mage obviously relieved he would not be called upon to perform the ritual he obviously detested. Most of the group agreed as well, save for the knight and warden.

"You cannot go on alone, Adela," Alistair admonished, pulling her aside and speaking low. Roland followed, his own words echoing Alistair's.

"Look," she turned to Alistair. "I need you here, Alistair. You are the one who will make the final decision in case…something goes wrong." She looked him in the eye, seeing the uncertainly there. She placed a small hand on his arm. "I trust only you to make this decision, Alistair. You have your templar abilities to call upon in case the demon tries to reassert itself." Understanding lit the young man's face, but he still did not want her to go alone.

"I'll take Hafter," she relented.

"And I will go," Roland advised. But Adela shook her head.

"You are still recovering…"

But the knight sputtered at that. "I'm recovered enough."

"Your armor is too heavy."

"I'll wear leather, and carry only my blade."

Adela's blue eyes met green eyes, shining with determination. She watched him for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. You can go too. But, remember, we're traveling fast and light." The knight nodded and stepped away to change his armor.

"Are you certain about this, Adela?" Alistair asked.

She nodded. "More than certain." She smiled into his face. "Alistair, I meant it. You are the only one I truly trust to make the right decision, to make certain that every other option had been pursued before needing to do anything…unpleasant." A small hand brushed against his cheek. "You have a vested interest in this family. And, you are kind hearted enough not to act first with a blade, but thoughtful enough to know when too much is enough."

Amber eyes stared into the blues of his fellow Warden. No, his commander. He wanted to go with her, not be left behind to watch over the boy, to possibly have to order his death if the demon shows itself again. He knew Roland would watch over her and protect her, but it did not help because to Alistair, only _he _could properly watch over her and protect her. He would not, however, argue with her. She had made a decision, and it was the right one. With a nod, he bent down and kissed her lightly on one smooth cheek. "Be careful," he whispered as he pulled away, and then went to gather the others to set up vigil.

Adela stepped into a nearby room and removed the studded armor she had acquired from Highever Castle and donned her mother's Dalish set. Roland, outfitted in light leather, carrying only his longsword, was already waiting for her by the main doors.

Calling her massive war hound to her side, the elf gave the knight a nod. With his answering gesture, the pair stepped through the heavy double doors and left the castle.


	20. Chapter 20

_I own nothing save for Adela. Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. This chapter is decidedly darker than others I have written._

_As always, thank you all for the reviews: mutive, Biff McLaughlin, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Windchime68, zevgirl, CCBug. And thanks to everyone who has been alerting and favoriting this as well. You have no idea how much this means! Reviews & even concrit *shudders* welcome (my feelings won't be too awfully hurt)._

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 20_

She felt scared. Frightened.

Weak.

Impotent.

And these were feelings that Anora, Queen of Fereldan was not used to experiencing.

Mostly, she felt grief. She missed her husband, and still had not been able to properly grieve his death, even months later.

Worrying, too, was her father's continued odd behavior. She flinched at that. Both she and Cailan had their suspicions and concerns. Although neither had been able to put their finger on what, exactly, was off with the Teyrn. Cailan had suggested that they ask Adela but when the queen had sent to the Alienage, she received a message that the young elf had been conscripted into the Grey Wardens. Anora turned her blue eyes to the open window, overlooking the gardens. Her blond head bowed; she had lost both husband and dearest friend at Ostagar. And she still had no true answers as to exactly what had happened there. Oh, certainly, both her father and Howe had given her fairly vague explanations of being overwhelmed by darkspawn and only managing to save the few forces they could - those forces being Loghain's and Maric's Shield. For some reason, Howe's men never arrived at Ostagar.

She began to pace, trying to pull the pieces together. Arl Eamon's troops never arrived either, and now there was no word of the wily old politician's whereabouts, just rumors of an illness.

Rumors.

Her feet stopped, and she almost snarled out a curse. All she was getting these days were rumors. Nothing factual, nothing concrete that she could take as fact and work with. With rumors, all one could do was keep a weather eye out and wait.

And wait.

That seemed to be all she was doing.

She knew for fact that the Bannorn was getting restless and rebellious under Loghain's iron fist.

She knew that Howe, who now somehow held the Arling of Denerim, had closed off the Alienage, and those few messages she and Cyrion had been able to pass along had been cut off.

Her eyes traveled up the wall to the ornate ceiling above, not seeing the gold gilding or elaborate chandelier. Pale lids closed over blue eyes. She sighed.

She knew she was afraid, and freely admitted it. At least, to herself.

Letting an exasperated sigh out, she turned and marched from her chambers, brushing past guards and stunned servants, seeking out her father. She wanted answers - not rumor, not innuendo. But true, hard facts. She needed to know what was going on. Regardless that Loghain was regent, she was still Queen. She was Cailan's Queen, and he had been a good King. She paused, glancing about. She missed Marcela. The new maid Loghain had procured for her, this elf, Erlina, was not as personable as her former maid had been. Anora admitted she didn't like the woman at all. Her frown deepened as she continued to the stairwell. And she was Orlesian, which made her appointment by Loghain that much stranger.

Another strange occurrence in a vast series of strange occurrences.

Her steps took her to the throne room, and she paused. The guards stationed at each end bowed respectfully to her, but she waved aside their offer to open the doors. Her thoughts were collected, as well as they could be in this situation, and she took a deep breath. With a nod, the guards opened the doors and the Queen stepped through.

Loghain sat upon the throne, a bored expression upon his hard face. Anora paused at that, noting that the expression was so foreign upon his features. Teyrn Howe stood before him, speaking. It sounded like reports of activity in the Bannorn. Straightening her shoulders, Anora marched forward, turning to look squarely at the man who was her father.

A slight smirk on his features, Howe turned and bowed gracefully to the queen. "Your Majesty," his oily voice purred out, "as always an honor and pleasure to see you." He rose, his dark eyes settling upon the queen's lovely face. She did well to hide her discomfort under his scrutiny and turned back to Loghain.

"Father," she began, keeping her voice steady. "What about the darkspawn?" She resisted the urge to pace. "Are they not our most pressing concern?"

Chilling blue eyes settled upon her face. "We need to get the nobles in line first, Anora," his voice was heavier, more gravely then she recalled. "Once they are put back in their place, we can see to the darkspawn incursion." Here he scoffed. "This is no true Blight, Anora. Only Cailan's vanity demanded it be so." Never had she heard him speak of her husband with such disdain.

A firm rein on her temper, she stepped forward. "Did not Cailan contact the Orlesians?" she dared ask. "With their help…"

"No!" Loghain shouted, slamming a fist to the throne arm and rising forcefully to his feet. "We do not need their assistance for this! We Fereldans can handle this incursion. Have no fear." He settled back onto the throne.

Her eyes narrowed. Taking a breath, she asked what she had been wanting to for months. "Did you kill Cailan?"

Her heart quickened, her breath was unsteady. Those icy blue orbs of her father's, eyes that had often as a child caused her to stop whatever she was doing, obeying their intensity, were fully upon her. His voice quiet, he responded. "Cailan's death was his own doing."

She stumbled back, gasping slightly. Blinking, fighting back the tears that stung, she spun away and quickly left the room. Loghain's eyes remained fixed to the spot she had been standing, but Howe's followed her retreat, his smirking grin widening.

DA:O

Alistair's amber eyes followed the young boy as the child paced about the room. Every now and again the lad would toss an insult toward the ex-templar, but the young man did not acknowledge the verbal assaults in any fashion. Other than to continue watching.

Outside the door, the Sten, Leliana and Morrigan stood, in case Alistair needed help in restraining Connor. Wynne, still exhausted from the battles, rested quietly in a room directly opposite the boy's.

Alistair continued to watch, fighting down his concern for Adela. She and Roland were traveling light, which meant that they did not pack much for food and no camping supplies. Their plan being to run straight through the night to the Tower.

The young Warden was concerned about his being in charge. Adela had expressed complete confidence in him, but this was a life or death situation, and he found his old anxieties and fears creeping up on him.

Only once since the elf and knight left had the demon within Connor tried to assert itself forcefully, trying to animate nearby suits of armor. Alistair's templar abilities to cleanse magic disrupted that attempt, a smite sending the creature in boy's guise reeling back. With a snarl, the demon retreated its power, but still maintained its hold on the boy.

Now and again Connor would emerge to ask for food or something to drink. Or, as he had until just moments ago, to play with some of his toys. It was while the boy was building a castle out of blocks that the demon returned, and since then paced the room.

He shifted his gaze briefly to the window, reminding himself that Roland was with her, as was her faithful hound. For now, his eyes turned back to the boy, who had stopped pacing and was playing with his blocks again, he had a more pressing concern.

DA:O

Upon leaving Redcliffe Village the trio - elf, man, dog - jogged along the highway, heading back to the Tower. Adela grumbled about how she had tried so hard to save time by hitting the tower first. Roland laughed, reminding her that, in a sense, they were saving time by having gone to the tower first. Remembering what they found therein on their first trip, she giggled her embarrassed reply.

Roland found the jog quite pleasant. His muscles had toughened with the daily walks and then sparring at the end of each day. Wearing his silverite splint mail during those walks helped to build back his strength and stamina as well. The much lighter leather armor he now wore seemed an almost joy to carry, but he felt very vulnerable without all the metal. Add to that the absence of his shield, and he felt very much exposed.

He glanced over at the elf, who did not seem to notice the exertion she was putting forth in jogging. Of course, elves were lighter, with smaller bone structures and musculature, making them far more suited to such activities as long distance running. And, the Dalish armor she wore…well, there wasn't as much leather to that as other leather armor. The knight found himself admiring her slender figure, the expanse of toned midriff and leg exposed by the scant armor. Adela glanced over at him, and, flushing a bit at being caught ogling her, he offered her a wide smile, letting her know that he was fine.

Of course Hafter absolutely loved the run. Prancing, jumping, hopping - the pooch was in his element, and would race far ahead, only to stop, turn and run back to the side of his beloved mistress. Adela would then reach over and scratch at an ear or pat him on the head and along his broad back before the dog would resume his antics.

And the knight was finding his time alone with the elf quite pleasant as well. Although they were far from taking a leisurely stroll, and could barely spare the breath to talk as they continued their pace, just being with her, without the others - Leliana's girlish need for gossip; Morrigan trying to pull the elf into a debate over human and elven relations; Wynne's constant mothering of the small, childlike elf; or Alistair's near omnipresence - was a nice respite.

The day was cool, well suited for their increased pace. Roland noted that there were no bird songs. Although it was late autumn, in this part of Fereldan there were always birds, and so their absence seemed a bit strange. He could only assume that the unnatural occurrences at Redcliffe had affected the area, even as far away from the village as they were now.

DA:O

"You truly think you could stop me if I didn't wish it?" Connor - no, the demon demanded as the boy perched himself upon the settee by the window, glaring over at the Warden.

Frowning, the young man continued his vigilance over the child, choosing not to acknowledge the demon, not to give it any ammunition to use against him. The boy chuckled, a strange, sultry sound coming from one so young. He turned to stare out the window, and then a scream - filled with anguish and terror - raced up the corridor outside the door. He heard the Sten curse in his native tongue, and heard footsteps race away from the door. Sounds of battle resumed in the hallway, and he could hear Morrigan's voice chanting spells. Alistair stared at the door for a moment, and then turned back to the boy.

"Stop whatever you are doing!" he demanded, standing to tower over the small form of the child. A wicked smiled graced the boy's cherubic features, malice glittering in those brown eyes.

"Make me," came the childish reply.

Pulling all of his energy inward, the ex-templar shouted out, raising his arms as he cleansed the area of magic. Connor slumped forward, almost hitting the floor with his face, had Alistair not captured the lad in his arms. The sounds of battle outside of the door eased, and then ceased.

Holding the boy tensely, Alistair turned as the door to the chamber opened, revealing a disheveled Leliana. Her face was lined with concern.

"One of the suits of armor here…" she began, her usual cheerful tones gone, replaced with weariness. "It…killed one of the maids that was bringing us our dinner." Her blue eyes focused on the boy still unconscious and in the Warden's arms. As she left, she murmured, "I hope Adela returns soon with the mages."

Bowing his head, Alistair slowly lifted the boy into his arms and settled him down on the bed.

He hoped so too.

DA:O

They had jogged for several hours and the sun was setting into the west. As dusk approached, Adela had suggested that they take a quick rest and eat something before continuing onward. Roland readily agreed, calling Hafter back to their sides.

They had packed their food light for two purposes: one was that they were traveling light; the other was that they could not travel quickly with overfull bellies. And so, they sat down, eating a cold supper of dried meat, fruit, and cheese, washing that most appetizing of meals down with cool water. Hafter actually turned his nose up at the rations (Adela broke into a twinkling peel of laughter at that), and went a-hunting instead.

Roland listened as the elf giggled at the scuffing and shuffling noises her hound made as he attempted to capture a hare that had bounded across his path. The knight found he enjoyed the sound immensely, and offered her a wide smile in compliment.

Both rose to their feet, hands to weapons, as a yelp erupted from the war hound, said yelp that immediately changed to a low growl. They turned toward the sounds, watching as the dog warily backed toward them, his haunches raised, teeth bared. An arrow whizzed by Adela's head, and she ducked, spinning about to the direction she gathered the arrow flew from. A ring of humans and elves leaped from the surrounding shadows. One, an elven man with golden hair and a tanned complexion, called out for the Warden's death.

Gritting her teeth, truly not liking the sound of that, Adela spun about, raising her daggers to skillfully turn aside the dagger that moved toward her face. She kicked out with one foot, connecting with a bent knee. The angle of the assassin's knee allowed him to absorb much of the blow, but his concentration had been compromised, and Adela took advantage as she spun under his blades, bringing her back up against his chest, and then stepped solidly on one foot, grinding his toes under her heel, elbowing him in the gut. The assassin cursed in a language she did not understand, and tried to back away, to pull his blades back. The elf proved quicker, and tucked down again, driving both blades deeply into his chest. She yanked them free in a spray of blood.

The long sword cut forward, slicing slightly to the side, tearing a bit at the peasant dress the mage wore. Each hit, every distraction prevented her from calling forth power, and Roland took advantage of her disadvantage. She tried to cast a healing spell upon herself to heal a nasty cut the knight had delivered across her forearm, but his sword cut in again, this time slicing neatly into her side. Gasping, the mage stumbled back, unable to find the breath to call forth another spell. The sword descended, and she died.

Frowning, the knight turned to sweep aside an oncoming sword thrust, turning it neatly away. A leather gloved fist lashed out, slamming into the face of the human assassin. Blood dripped from a broken nose, and Roland, bereft of shield, stepped forward, slamming his fist again into the other man's face, keeping him off balance. He then drove his sword deeply into the man's chest, tearing through his heart, the point protruding out the back. With a grunt, the knight pulled his blade free.

Hafter leaped and growled, howled and tore at the elven man he faced. The elf could not get his daggers to bear against the moving mass of muscle that threatened him. The dog smelled fear radiate from this one, this one who would harm his mistress, his lady, his elf. His posture screamed it, and the dog lunged, deftly knocking the blades free of the elf's hands, knocking the smaller being to the ground beneath his tremendous weight. With a growl, the beast's head snapped forward, strong jaws closing around the elf's slender neck. First he squeezed, and then snapped his jaws closed, breaking through skin and bones, tasting blood. Giving the elf a final shake, ensuring he was dead, the great war hound turned, seeking out new prey.

Her dagger snapped forward, and then the other followed closely behind. Thanking Leliana for her continued patience in training her with daggers, Adela flicked a blade, cutting through the light leather of the woman who she faced off against. The other dagger dug into the opening, driving deeply into the human's shoulder. She twisted the blade as she pulled it free, the other dagger following, digging into her breast. The human jumped back, snarling in anger and pain, her own daggers jabbing forward, seeking to cut into the elf. Her face tight with concentration, Adela nimbly waltzed to the side, out of the other woman's range. Ducking down, jabbing one blade low with the other high, she gave a satisfied nod as both blades entered into the human's body, one through her side and into her chest, the other into her unprotected neck. Convulsing, the human slumped to the ground to bleed out.

Breathing hard, she turned, finding only one assassin survived. The elf who had ordered the others to attack and who had not engaged in the battle. Their eyes met, sapphire hard eyes to tiger eyes. The male elf offered a flamboyant bow to the woman, and then turned to dart away. With a whistle, Adela called her hound. Pointing at the fleeing elf, she ordered "Fetch!" and watched as Hafter ran the elf down, leaping onto his back, his jaws closing over the back of his neck as his great weight pinned him there.

With a look to each other to ensure the other was fine, the elf and knight walked over to the would-be assassin.

DA:O

The boy was sitting on his bed, unmoving, but smiling that damnable smile that told the ex-templar that it was not Connor who sat there, but the damned demon. He could feel the power building up and, again, sent forth his templar ability to cleanse the area of magic. The young man was tiring; the demon seemed to have tapped into Connor's innate magical ability and, coupled with its own, could regenerate its mana quicker than Alistair could regain his strength. Yet again, the sounds of battle rang through the hallway beyond the boy's bedroom door, and yet again, Alistair remained where he was, doing his best to tamp down the demon's power. The Sten, Leliana, Teagan, Morrigan and Wynne battled against whatever frightful thing the demon managed to conjure, and still Alistair sat, watching, building his own reserves, ready to cast it again.

A terrifying scream, and the door burst open, admitting Isolde and Jowan. The Warden rose, seeking to forestall the Arlessa's advance toward the boy. Connor, his eyes lit up with unnatural light, leaped from the bed, pulling his magical energy inward. A cry, a startled gasp, and Alistair turned, watching in horror as the boy's form melted, bent, and reformed into that of an abomination, its twisted form a cruel mockery of the humanity of the boy.

Crying out, Isolde rushed to Connor's side, sidestepping the startled Warden. With a snarl, the boy-turned-abomination struck out with one claw, catching the Arlessa across the face, tearing flesh from bone, piercing one eye, pulling it free. Horrified, Alistair pulled the screaming woman free of the demonic thing's grasp, tossing her toward the blood mage. Jowan caught hold of her, turning as Wynne entered. Handing her off, Jowan turned again, pulling a dagger, as Alistair faced off against the abomination.

"Get her out of here!" Alistair shouted, parrying a swing of a powerful arm. Wynne and Leliana took the unconscious, bleeding form of the horrendously wounded woman from the room.

Jowan cut deeply into his palm, feeling the power granted him by the darker arts. He sent forth a burst of dark power, slamming the abomination in the chest. Alistair jabbed at the creature, seeking to tire it out. He felt the build up of magic from the abomination, and cast out with a cleansing field. Then, he cast out with a smite, sending the abomination and Jowan both to the floor.

Sobbing, praying, Alistair stood over the stunned figure that had once been the Arl's little boy. The creature looked up with dazed eyes - Connor's eyes - and, using Connor's boyish voice, asked for help, pleaded for mercy. His lips trembling, nausea rising in his throat, the ex-Templar gripped his sword in both hands, and plunged it down into the thing's chest.

The massive shape shuddered once, and then stilled. A few moments passed, and the form of Connor reshaped from the molted mess of the abomination.

Slumping down beside the form, Alistair's large frame shook as he sobbed beside the boy's still and bloody form. Jowan stood, staring down at the body, blood dripping from the self inflicted wound.

Beyond the room, further down the hall, the Arlessa's screams of agony could be felt as well as heard.

DA:O

They stood over the prone form of the elf. Adela clucked her tongue at her dog, and he immediately obeyed, taking a stance by her side, guarding, ready to strike back at this other elf. The elven man flipped over, pushing himself up into a seated position, his tawny eyes taking in the forms of the small elven woman, huge war dog, and extremely angry human man. A slight smirk crossed the elf's handsome features as he turned his attention fully upon the lovely elven woman, allowing his eyes to roam over her form.

A blond brow rose, her eyes hard, the elf returned the other elf's appraisal, although with far less lascivious nature.

"Ah, so, this is one of the fabled Grey Wardens?" the elf spoke in a heavy accent. "I see that reputations are not exaggerated." He lifted his eyes from where they were roaming to settle upon Adela's very blue eyes. "And, since you have decided not to kill me, I suspect that you wish to interrogate the prisoner, correct?"

The elf nodded, Roland remaining at her side looking threatening. The assassin chortled, saying, "Then, let me save you some time, yes?" He glanced warily at the war hound as he brought a hand to his chest. "My name is Zevran…ah, Zev to my friends." he waved a hand to the woman. "A member of the Antivan Crows. We were hired to assassinate any surviving Wardens, which I have failed at, as you can no doubt see."

A brow quirked. "I'm rather pleased you failed," said Warden responded, ignoring the elf's invitation to introduce herself.

"As would I, in your shoes of course," the assassin purred.

"Who hired you?"

"Ah, yes," he purred, smiling. "That would be one Teyrn Howe, I do believe."

Roland's face darkened at the mention of the traitorous nobleman. Adela placed a calming hand on his arm. "And now that you failed at your assignment?"

"Well, that is between Teyrn Howe and the Crows, and the Crows and myself, unfortunately."

"And you and I," Adela reminded him.

Chuckling, the elf replied. "Is that not what we are establishing now, yes?"

Roland scowled and demanded, "Why are you telling us all this?"

The elven male laughed. "Why not? I wasn't paid for silence," he replied smoothly.

Adela frowned at this. "Do you hold no loyalty for your employer?"

"Loyalty is an interesting concept," he waved aside the notion. "If you wish, and you are done interrogating me, we can discuss it further."

Chewing her lower lip, she waved for him to continue.

"Well, you see," the assassin quipped, "The Crows do not reward failure," he sighed dramatically. "I have failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit," a shrug of graceful shoulders. "The thing is, I like living; quite a lot, actually. And you, obviously, are the sort to give the Crows pause. So…" he paused and went on, "let me serve _you_ instead."

Astounded by the other elf's audacity, Adela stood staring at him in silence for many moments. "You must think I'm royally stupid."

Zevran was not deterred, but immediately said, "I think you're royally hard to kill, and utterly gorgeous." Seeing her raised brows, he hurried on suavely, "Not that I think you'll respond to simple flattery, of course. But there are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess."

Roland took a threatening step forward, his sword gripped tightly in his hand at that remark. Zevran merely cast a lazy gaze toward the knight, seemingly unconcerned by the man's threatening stance.

A hand on his arm stilled the knight. "And what's to stop you from trying to finish the job if I let you live?"

_Ah ha_. "To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice about joining the Crows. I was bought on the slave market at a young age," he hung his head here, trying to elicit sympathy from the other elf. "Even if I were to kill you now, they might just kill me on principle. I'd rather take my chances with you."

"What do you think you have to offer?"

He grinned. "I could open pesky locks, give you warning should the Crows attempt more…sophisticated means of disposing of you." His eyes traveled along her form again. ""I could also stand and look pretty, if you prefer. Warm your bed? Fend off unwanted suitors? No?"

"No."

"No? Such a shame."

"And what would you want in return?"

His reply was instant. "Being allowed to live would be nice, and make me marginally more useful to you. And somewhere down the road, if you should decide you no longer need me, well then, I shall go my way. Until then, I am yours to command. Is that not fair?"

Those blue eyes continued to scrutinize the male elf, watching his facial expressions and body language. While she believed his story and his offer to join them, she did not trust him. Not at all. To do so would be suicidal, and one thing Adela was not, it was suicidal. A glance to Roland told her that the human had similar thoughts.

"No," she stated flatly, watching as the other elf's eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"I…I beg your pardon?" That did surprise him.

"No," she repeated. "I'll not kill you, Zevran; however I have no intention of allowing you to join us."

"Adela…" Roland started, but she shook her head.

"Roland, if you want to kill him, go ahead. I'll not think any less of you," she turned her eyes back to the elven man still sitting on the ground. "I will not do so." Her eyes narrowed. "I warn you, Zevran of the Antivan Crows," her voice was hard, a tone Roland had never heard before coming from her. "If you attempt to ambush or kill any of us again, I will not be so merciful."

Zevran watched the young woman, confused but at least alive. He pushed himself to his feet, and brushed himself off. Once that was completed, he offered the elven woman a deep, respectful bow, and then turned and melted into the shadows.

DA:O

He had been certain letting the assassin go had probably been one of the biggest and worst mistakes he had ever witnessed Adela make. He had tried to speak with the elven woman about it, but she clearly did not wish to discuss it, saying only that the decision had been made, and to let it go. _Let. It. Go_. Roland was having a hard time with that and so had kept a very careful eye on the surrounding darkness about them as they resumed their jog to the Tower.

And, despite the fact that they had arrived at the Tower without further delay or hindrance, he still felt it had been a monumental mistake that would later on come back to haunt them. He looked over at Adela as they awaited the ferryman to make his boat ready for the trip to the Tower. He just hoped he would be around to protect her when the Antivan Crows came back.

Adela was tired. That much was obvious. As soon as the ferryman, Kester, had the boat ready, she climbed in and slumped onto the seat, leaning against the side. Hafter bounded over to her, rocking the boat, to lay down at her feet. Roland sat beside her, glancing down at her weary features. Deciding to take the risk, the young knight reached over, put his arm across the elf's shoulders and pulled her against him. He felt her stiffen at the contact, and her eyes moved up to his face. His green eyes met hers and he offered a slight smile. "You look tired," he quietly said, hoping she would relax, praying he was not being too forward. With a sigh, the elf did relax, nestling under his arm, her eyes closed as she took a few moments to rest.

The water gently lapped against the sides of the boat in an almost hypnotic rhythm as the ferryman guided the craft across the waters and toward the Tower. Roland almost believed that Adela had fallen asleep as relaxed as she was. He was amazed at just how small she felt with his arm around her. Although there was no mistaking just how small the woman was when standing next to her, she always seemed larger when speaking with people, calming them, or giving orders. And when she stood in battle, her bow sure in her hands, she seemed almost titanic. But here, resting, worn, and worried about their friends and the Arl and his family, she seemed as tiny as a child. And as delicate. He picked up one tiny hand, noticing the beginnings of calluses developing on her otherwise soft hands. He frowned, recalling that this woman was an artisan, one condemned to a life as a warrior. Although he wished nothing more than to serve as a Grey Warden, even one who so idolized the order could see when someone was far more suited for something else. And, although she was brave and a natural leader, a life spent fighting did not seem quite suited to this young woman.

Brilliant blue eyes opened as they neared the Tower dock. As Kester tied the boat off, the elf leaped lightly from the small craft. Asking the ferryman to remain, Adela led Roland back into the tower.

The doors were guarded by two Templars - one the ridiculous Carroll who had guarded the docks during their first visit and another they did not recognize. Carroll indicated that the First Enchanter could be found in his offices upstairs, and called over a third templar to show them the way. They found both the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander standing in Irving's office, obviously discussing the rebuilding of the Tower. Both men seemed pleased to see Adela. The elf greeted the mage warmly, but her salutation to the templar was still a bit cool.

After Adela explained what was happening at Redcliffe, Irving all but jumped at the chance to give the plan a try. Muttering something about gathering lyrium and mages, the old man walked off. Gregoir turned to the elf and knight and offered them a room in which they could rest while Irving gathered all he would need. Tired and weary, Adela graciously accepted the Templar's offer.

The room the Knight-Commander offered up was small but contained two small beds. Sighing in relief, Adela removed her gloves and boots, leaving her armor on (she had no other clothing to change into) and lay down on the comfortable bed. She was asleep before Roland even removed his boots.

DA:O

Wynne's hands pressed down on the wailing woman's face. Morrigan, her face cast in a look of utter concentration, sent her spell flowing into Isolde's flailing body. Soon, the woman stilled as the witch's sleep spell took hold.

The elder mage ran her hands over the Arlessa's ruined face, clucking in sympathy, sending out tendrils of healing power through the wounds. Morrigan remained unusually silent as she turned back to her mortar and pestle, grinding herbs into a poultice.

Outside, Leliana stood, leaning against the door frame, ready to rush any errand the mages needed as they tended to the wounded noblewoman. Teagan had locked himself in a study, while Alistair had not come out of the boy's room. The Sten had removed the body and was having it prepared for a pyre.

DA:O

The mages were ready within two hours of Adela and Roland's arrival. Irving planned to accompany them back to the castle, and had enlisted Niall (who gave the elven woman a warm hug when he spotted her) and an elven male, Artemis Surana, to accompany them back to Redcliffe. Artemis nodded politely to Adela, his large hazel eyes settling appreciatively upon Roland's muscled form. The knight blanched under the scrutiny, placing a hand on Adela's shoulder. The elven mage merely shrugged, pouting his lips as he turned back to the First Enchanter.

"We'll need to move as quickly as we can," Adela was explaining to the mages. "I have no idea how long it will be before the demon reasserts itself." _If it hasn't already done so_, she amended silently.

Irving nodded to a nearby Templar, who stepped forward, carrying a large iron box etched with runes. This Templar, again one the elf did not recognize, would be accompanying them back to the Castle as well.

With a farewell to Gregoir, Irving led the group out of the tower, and to where Kester and the boat awaited.

DA:O

The light danced along the prism surface of the glass, casting tiny rainbows along the hand that held it. The glass tilted, and the thick, golden liquid contained therein coated the surface nicely, causing tiny golden sparkles to dance along the hand. The glass raised to dry lips, and the liquid was gulped down in one easy swallow. The hand holding the glass twisted it about, staring at it with coppery brown eyes that were heavy with sorrow and pain. With a profound sigh, Teagan set the glass carefully upon the side table, closing his eyes, and bowing his head.

How would he tell Eamon that not only was his son dead, but his wife horribly disfigured? The despair assaulted the Bann, causing a clear pain to rise in his chest. He was to have protected his brother's family; but instead, he had failed in a most solid manner. He brushed aside a tear that fell from his eye.

He had failed his family.

DA:O

Horses. That was what they needed. Horses. Adela thought it before, she thought it now. What was Fereldan's apprehension regarding horses? Oxen, oh sure those could be found anywhere. Ever try riding one? She shook her head, recalling her mother telling her stories of riding the majestic Halla in her childhood. There…that was what they needed. A whole herd of Halla.

It was a good thing she and Roland had made such excellent time in getting to the tower, assassin ambush aside. But, she could not blame the mages. Irving was, well, old. And had not Wynne's experience beyond the Tower nor her sprightliness. And as much as she liked her friend Niall, he really was not the most in shape person she had ever met. And Artemis? The elf was sprightly and flighty; too busy flirting with Roland or noticing every single plant, bird, bug or rock they passed by to make any real progress forward. The Templar was the only member from the Tower that could move in a good forward motion, nothing delaying or distracting him whatsoever. He was also the most unresponsive companion anyone had ever had the pleasure of walking with. She snorted. He made the Sten seem almost personable.

The elven mage was, yet again, flirting outrageously with the ginger haired knight. Adela bit down a grin, her eyes shining with amusement as she watched Roland trying desperately to just ignore the elf. She saw his green eyes turn to her, pleading with her to rescue him and all she did was offer him a sympathetic shrug of her lithe shoulders, and turn back to Irving.

Apparently, Irving and Niall had an interesting theory with regards to the Fade and a non-mage's ability to traverse it. Since Adela had been aware during her time in the Fade, and had also learned how to shape shift and otherwise control her environment within that environment, both mages had concluded that she - or someone with equal contact within the Fade - could be sent there by mages, in a similar fashion as what they were proposing to do in Connor's case. Adela seemed skeptical, but Niall especially was adamant that they should try it at some point, practically begging the young elf to volunteer. Adela rolled her eyes at the mage, who looked at her with a puppy dog expression in his brown eyes. Without promising a thing, the young Warden said she would think about it, but told both mages that she had not enjoyed her time in the Fade in such a manner and was really in no hurry to repeat the experience. Taking her decision at face value, both mages continued their discussion.

She turned at the sound of Roland sputtering a harsh "No!" at the elven mage and watched as he all but stomped over to her side. Biting her lip, she found it very humorous that the knight, who had already told her of his opinion of such same gender relations, was being so relentlessly pursued by the handsome elven mage. The knight did not find it as humorous and merely offered her a glare, which crumbled in the face of the sweet smile she turned on him.

DA:O

He sat, near where Connor had fallen, the blood stain having penetrated the wood of the floor, steeping in and staining it, always the reminder of what had happened herein.

Alistair turned his head, feeling shame at having cut down the child. He could not think that the child had been turned into an abomination, all semblances of humanity having been stripped from him by the demon he had bargained with. It had still been a child, one who did not understand the dangers of magic. One who now would never understand.

He knew that Jowan had been present, and that Teagan had ordered the blood mage returned to the dungeons. The mage had returned without a sound of protestation.

Adela had left him in charge. She had said she was confident he would make the right decision. He rose, his sword hanging loosely in his hand. He could not shake the feeling that he had failed her.

DA:O

It was late the following day when the castle came into view and nearly dusk when they arrived at the castle. Adela made a mental note that there were no new corpses lying about, and that the villagers seemed to be putting their lives back in order. It was a morbid thought, but one the elf found necessary to assure herself that all was as it should be.

It was a somber Ser Perth that greeted Adela and her group at the front steps of the castle. After quickly explaining what had happened, the elf gave out a cry, and then ran away from the group, into the castle, in search of Alistair.

DA:O

Leliana caught up to Adela first as she sped to Connor's room. Grasping the elf's arm, she gave a more thorough detail of events since her departure. She also explained that Alistair had not left Connor's room since he had to…stop the abomination, and that no one had been able to get through to the young man. The elf nodded, wiping away a tear as the Orlesian finished. Thanking Leliana, asking her to go and make sure that the mages were making Isolde as comfortable as possible, she turned to the door behind which sat her fellow Warden.

The door was unlocked; she was momentarily surprised by that. Turning the knob, she slipped into the darkened room. She could clearly see the outline of Alistair, kneeling upon the floor. Quietly, she closed the door and stepped beside the young man. Dropping to her knees, she embraced her friend, pulling him to her. With an anguished cry, Alistair dropped his sword, wrapping his strong arms around the slender elf, releasing the sorrow he had been trying to contain.

He kept apologizing, saying he had failed her, failed the Wardens, failed the Arl. Adela shushed him, wiping the tears from his face with a small hand. The young Warden tried to keep from weeping, tried to push his sorrow back. The elf could feel the effort he was putting into it. Pushing him back, she looked into his red eyes.

"Is there somewhere you wish to go, so that we can talk alone?" she asked quietly, recalling that this was his childhood home. He paused, then nodded his head. "The stables," he whispered, a sob clenching in his throat. Nodding, she stood, pulling him up as well. Opening the door, she led the man out of the castle, and then followed him to the stables.

Once upon a time, the stables had housed horses. However, the recent events had decimated the stables. Alistair led her to a stall in the furthest back. Then, pulling down a ladder, he led her up to the loft.

Strangely, the loft held a cot and open crate, in which lay old bedding and clothing. A knot formed in her stomach as she recalled Alistair telling her that the Arl had housed the then boy Alistair in the stables, at the insistence of his new Arlessa.

She turned, finding Alistair sitting on the cot that had once been his bed. He looked so despondent, so broken, her heart cried out for him. She helped him remove his splint mail, making him more comfortable in the cotton breeches and tunic he wore beneath. She then climbed onto the cot, and leaned her back against the wall. Reaching over, she pulled Alistair to her, tucking his head under her chin. He then cried out his sorrow, telling her everything that had happened, taking the blame for so much. She was glad Leliana had told her what had happened; this way she could dispute Alistair's self-condemnation with fact. How long he cried and talked, she had no idea. Not that it mattered. His words died out long before his tears. The elf twisted, pulled his head down, resting it lightly on her lap, his face turned toward her knees, her fingers brushing through his hair, along his cheeks, and over his ear as the tears still fell. Eventually, his eyes closed and the human was lulled into a fitful sleep. Closing her eyes, her fingers still stroking his hair and face, Adela relaxed against the wood, allowing her tense body to ease and doze.

DA:O

A few hours later, just past midnight, and Alistair found himself awake, his head resting comfortably in a soft lap, small hands resting lightly upon his forehead and neck. He shifted, looking up into Adela's restful face. Smiling, he gently pulled himself into a seated position, placing a hand on one slender shoulder. He barely applied any pressure but the elf's blue eyes opened, focusing upon his face. Smiling, she blinked a few times.

"How do you feel?" she asked as she bent forward slightly and stretched her arms out, rolling her shoulders, her eyes remaining on his face.

She noticed his eyes drooped somewhat, and an almost perpetual sadness etched his features. She reached over and placed a cool hand on his cheek. "I will be fine, eventually," he admitted softly, his voice harsh, ducking his head to press into her hand. "I just cannot shake the feeling that I've let everyone down."

The cot creaked loudly as she moved to sit directly in front of the human man. "Alistair," she moved her hand from his cheek to under his chin, raising his head slightly. "Do you know why I left you in charge?"

He snorted. "Because I'm your second."

She smiled at him. "True. But, mostly because if I had left anyone else - be it Sten or Morrigan, Leliana or Wynne - I knew that not every avenue would have been explored should a situation arise while I was gone."

"Roland would have made the right decision," the young man retorted glumly.

"Perhaps," she allowed, tilting her head slightly to him. "But he did not have all of the skills necessary for what needed to be done."

Her blue eyes turned piercing, and the young man found he could not look away from their intensity. "You, on the other hand, were able to counter most of the demon's magical attacks with your templar abilities; that bought us time and is not something any of the rest of us can do."

She began to tick off on her fingers.

"Your first reaction would not have been to simply kill the child, as would have been Sten's or Morrigan's." Her head tipped. "You would also be sympathetic to Isolde and Teagan. Again, something neither Sten or Morrigan are even remotely capable of doing. However," her eyes narrowed. "You also could have made the tough decision when and if necessary, and I doubt seriously either Leliana or Wynne would have been capable of that. And so more people would have died."

She began stroking his face gently, watching as his face relaxed. "You made the difficult decision, Alistair, because it was the only decision left to make."

A heavy sigh escaped from Alistair's lips and he raised his eyes once again to the elf's face. "It's not easy leading, is it?"

A bark of laughter and the elf replied, with a shake of her head, "No, no it's not. But," she smiled, placing her hands on both of his broad shoulders. "I will always have faith that you will make the right decision." Her mind wandered to the note Duncan left her. "Duncan had faith in you as well, if you recall."

"He always did," the young Warden admitted, remembering his talks with his mentor. "He used to tell me that I lacked confidence, but that he had faith that someday I would understand and accept the burdens of leadership." He frowned, looking at the elf. "I used to think he meant my being Maric's son, but, now…" he shrugged. "I'm thinking it just had more to do with me and not any plans anyone else may have had for me."

Her eyes traveled around the loft area of the stables, frowning at the hay and the cot and everything else that reminded her that Alistair had been relegated to the stables as a child because of an adult woman's jealousy and insecurities. Her frown deepened as she thought that same woman had inadvertently caused so many deaths, her own son included.

It was still quite dark outside and the elf found she was exhausted.

"Come here," she motioned to the man, opening her arms. Alistair settled against her, pulling her closer so that her head rested against his shoulder. "We need to get more rest."

She felt him nod in agreement. "I'd rather not go back to the castle just yet," he admitted, his voice soft and a bit quivery. She could understand.

"Okay, we've spent most of the night here anyway," she motioned to the cot. "go lay down. I'll make a nest here."

Glancing over at the cot and then down at the floor, Alistair shook his head. "There's room for two on the cot," he suggested quietly. Adela felt her cheeks flush warmly.

Her blue eyes shifted over to the cot. With a sigh, she motioned for him to get settled first, and then she slid next to him, fitting her small shape against his. With a contented sigh, Alistair draped an arm around her, pulling her against him slightly. He could feel her tense body relax against him, and then the gentle breathing as she fell asleep.

Smiling softly, nuzzling his face into her hair, the young man quickly followed her into the Fade.


	21. Chapter 21

_**I own nothing save for Adela. Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox.**_

_**I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. **_

_**As always, thank you all for the reviews: mutive, Biff McLaughlin, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Windchime68, zevgirl, mutive, celtic-twinkie. And thanks to everyone who has been alerting and favoriting this as well. You have no idea how much this means! Reviews & even concrit are welcome (well, kinda. Okay, okay…marginally welcome).**_

_**DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn**_

_**Chapter 21**_

**The next few days passed without incidence. Wynne and Morrigan continued to tend to Lady Isolde, whose wounds were healing. Although nothing could be done about the missing eye, Wynne was able to smooth out many of the scars the abomination had scored across her smooth flesh. Because of the extent of the damage, however, Morrigan had been keeping the Arlessa in a relative stupor, allowing her to emerge just long enough to get sustenance into her and see to her other anatomical needs, but never fully aware so that she was not conscious of the extent of damage done to her fine face.**

**The rest of the party assisted in clearing the castle of bodies, removing any signs of the corruption, as well as help with the village. The work was tedious, time consuming and exhausting…something they all welcomed with fervor.**

**Bann Teagan had tried several times, unsuccessfully, to take Alistair aside and discuss the events at the castle with him. For his part, the young Warden had made a studious effort to avoid speaking with the Bann, concerned that he had disappointed his adoptive uncle greatly. Teagan, although trying to maintain an air of patience, was quickly running out of his immense supply. Finding Adela speaking with the mayor, the Bann pulled her aside.**

"**Alistair seems to be making a point of avoiding me," the Bann said as soon as the pair was relatively alone.**

**Brushing a stray lock from her eyes, the elf nodded, turning her eyes to search out the other Warden's muscular form. He was by the water, assisting Dwyn in rebuilding the docks that led directly to the lakefront. Teagan's eyes followed, a frown deepening upon his face. With a heavy sigh, she turned back to the human.**

"**He feels responsible for what happened with both Connor and Isolde," the elven Warden explained, crossing her arms across her chest. "I think he's avoiding speaking with you for fear of what you may say."**

**His eyes widened with concern and surprise. "Why ever would he fear that?" He shook his head, his eyes going back to the young man. "I know what he did to try and prevent any more deaths. By the Maker!" he threw his hands into the air, releasing some of his own frustration and feelings of inadequacy with the gesture. "I was there!"**

**She nodded, placing a small hand on an arm, lowering it to his side. "I know that; you know as does everyone else within the castle. Alistair, however," she gestured toward her friend. "feels that he let everyone down, and that the Arl will never forgive him for what happened to his son and wife."**

"**But, what befell the castle had nothing to do with Alistair!"**

**Again she nodded. "But it was his sword that cut down Connor," she said quietly, her eyes turned back to the Bann. "He had been left in charge, and it had been his decision." She frowned. "In time, he will see what we all see. That the decision he made was the one that had to be made. For now…" she left it hanging.**

"**For now we just give him time," Teagan completed for her, his eyes once again upon the young man.**

**They both watched as Alistair's eyes settled upon them. Adela smiled when the young man offered them a nod and then turned back to his work.**

**She made to turn away, but then reached over and took hold of one of Teagan's hands, giving it a squeeze. "And you, my friend, need to release your own guilt as well." She smiled at him and then turned to walk away, seeking out the old blacksmith. Teagan could only watch her leave, surprise and gratitude upon his face.**

**DA:O**

**Work. That was what he needed to do. Hard labor, exhausting himself to the point where he could not think. And so, Alistair drove himself hard, helping in every heavy, menial task that the village and castle had to offer. Whether it was carrying the dead to the pyres, loading lumber onto carts, or rebuilding the docks, Alistair was the first to volunteer.**

**And every night he had been able to fall into an exhausted sleep, untarnished even by the nightmares that all Grey Wardens suffered during Blights. **

**He stopped to wipe his brow, turning his head to catch the breeze that came across the water. He spied Adela and Teagan talking, and watched as both sets of eyes turned his way. He offered a slight nod, and then turned back to Dwyn and the dock.**

**DA:O**

**Walking the line of sparring men and women, the knight frowned, shaking his head. It was too bad that so many of the castle's guards had been killed. Now, they needed to rebuild the sentry for the castle as well as maintain a trained militia. Given how many that had died during the demon's attacks, Roland was unconvinced that both were possible.**

**Still, Ser Perth had requested the Highever knight's assistance. Since both men had endured and lived through both of their castles falling to unaccountable evil, they were doubly concerned and hyper aware of the possibility of it happening again. **

**He looked over to where the Orlesian woman was training archers. He admired her skill and patience; Leliana was a natural instructor, always able to put the men and women at ease with a tiny smile here, a kind word there. He shook his head, again wondering what the lovely Orlesian could possibly have in common with the equally beautiful, but highly taciturn Witch she so actively pursued. **_**To each his - or her - own**_**, he thought, grinning, as he turned back to the sparring pairs.**

**A small figure entered the courtyard and Roland looked up, smiling at the approach of Adela. The young elf looked tired, but resolute. He knew that she had spent many nights with Alistair, helping to ease the young man's heart with regards to the boy who had turned into an abomination. The knight fought down a pang of jealousy, and paused. Since when had he even the right to such feelings? He watched as Adela passed by, smiling broadly at him, her eyes twinkling. His heart felt lighter. Okay, so, perhaps his feelings for her went beyond mere friendship. But, when did they go beyond that? Beyond the simple flirtation he had indulged in (although the elf herself had never actively participated in)? He watched her mount the steps, pausing to give Ser Perth a word, watching as the older knight offered her a smile and slight bow. She glanced back, her eyes settling upon Roland, her smile for him alone. **

**Perhaps the elf did not realize the knight's feelings for her. She always seemed oblivious of the attraction he felt for her. She even seemed oblivious to the almost fawning affections of her fellow Warden. **

**Roland decided that soon he would have to make his feelings, his intentions, known to her. **

**For now, however, he had troops to train, and guardsmen to assign. **

**DA:O**

**Later that day Adela walked through the cool corridors of the castle, stopping before the Arlessa's door. Wynne had explained that she had done all she could with the healing. Apparently, the Arlessa would still retain some scars as the claw that had disfigured her had been poisoned, and were difficult for the skilled healer to counter. That she lived at all was a miracle, or so Wynne had said. Adela, who had a great deal more experience among nobles, wasn't so certain Lady Isolde would feel the same way. Adela had been surprised - pleasantly so - that Morrigan had gone along with trying to heal the Arlessa. Compared to other wounds received by many who defended the village and castle, Isolde's were minor. However, both mages had taken time from when they should have been resting to continue to pour healing magics into her body, trying to repair the damage done to her face. **

**Bowing her head, giving a sigh, she turned the knob and entered the noblewoman's room.**

**Lady Isolde lay upon her bed, quilts tucked under her arms, an array of downy pillows framing her form. She stood, evaluating the damage to the woman's features. Her left eye socket was puckered and sunken in, giving her an aged look. Wynne's healing magic had lessened the three deep scars that scored her left cheek, but they still showed white and vivid. Her magic had also managed to plump the flesh beneath the scars. A surge of pity welled in the elf. However much she may not like the woman, Adela could not find it in her heart to feel anything but pity for her. She took a step closer to stand next to her bedside. **

**The Arlessa appeared to be sleeping. The elf pulled a chair closer and settled down, carefully taking one of the human woman's cold hands and holding it gently. Adela wasn't certain if the woman would appreciate her company, but at the moment Wynne and the others were taking a much needed break. The elf had volunteered to sit vigil over the woman until someone else could do so.**

**Whispering, "I am very sorry, Lady Isolde," to the sleeping woman, Adela rubbed the soft flesh along the back of her hand, listening to the steady breathing of the sleeping woman. **

**DA:O**

**That night found all of the companions seated around the dining table, eating their fill. Bann Teagan sat at the head, but Lady Isolde was absent. They all knew that the woman continued to rest upstairs in a magic induced slumber as both mages continued to send magics into her body in an attempt to speed up the healing process. **

**As was everyone, the Bann was exhausted from his efforts in stabilizing the village and castle before winter's first snows. But his worry for his brother grew, and so he decided to breach the subject of the Urn with the Wardens and their companions.**

**Frowning over her fork, Adela asked, "Isn't the Urn just a legend?" Assenting mumbles sounded down the table.**

**Teagan replied, "True. However, we have a reliable scholar, one Brother Genetivi, who is quite successful in ferreting out legends. Word had reached Isolde that he had actually found where the resting place may well be." He shrugged his shoulders, resting his fork back to his plate. "My suggestion would be to seek clues at his home in Denerim. I believe his assistant may still be found there."**

**Chewing thoughtfully, the elf swallowed. "So, I gather you want us to seek out the Urn, then?" She turned her blue eyes upon the Bann, watching as he nervously pushed his plate forward and then folded his hands before him.**

"**I truly believe that if anyone can find the Urn, or Brother Genetivi, it would be you and your friends, my dear lady."**

"**You do realize that we've a Blight we're trying to defeat?" She raised a brow, watching him closely. The others at the table had ceased eating and were now watching the two. "And, going to Denerim may not be the wisest destination for us at the moment." That last was a statement, thinking of the ambush she and Roland had defeated just days before.**

"**I do realize this, Adela," Teagan's voice was tired, filled with resignation. "However, you will need Eamon's help against Loghain and his sycophants once you have gathered all of your allies. To win over the nobles and get them to oust Loghain, you will need him."**

**Letting out a sigh, the elf's eyes wandered down the length of the table, resting briefly upon each of her companions. She did not like delaying collecting on the treaties any longer than necessary. But, Teagan was correct: they could gather all of the allies they wanted; without help from the Throne itself, defeating the Blight would be an ongoing uphill battle, wherein they would not only be fighting against darkspawn, but the troops of the realm itself. Troops that would be better used in battling the Blight.**

_**Well I did tell Alistair leading was never easy**_**, she thought with grim amusement. With a nod, she scooped up food onto her fork, then replied, "Very well, Teagan. We will go to Denerim and then search out this Brother Genetivi." She frowned, bringing the food to her mouth. "We'll rest up for two more days and then leave." With that, she resumed eating her meal, staring at her plate.**

**Nodding, Teagan resumed his own meal, as did the others at the table.**

**DA:O**

**They were told by Teagan and Ser Perth that, because they were leaving soon to begin the quest for the Urn, they would all need to rest and not assist any further in the rebuilding of the village or castle.**

**Sounded good. Just two days of relaxing, restocking, eating, sleeping…right?**

**Not really.**

**Adela found herself bored. **

**The Sten found solace in attacking the combat dummy or mediating on the Qun. He seemed quite content for the moment, although the elf knew that the giant warrior would not allow for too much down time when there were darkspawn to slaughter.**

**Morrigan spent her time locked in her room, pouring over the tome Adela had found during their excursion through the Tower of Magi. The witch had excitedly told the elf that this had been a tome of her mother's, one that had been missing for many years, and the one time her secrets had been allowed to get away from her. After thanking Adela profusely (which, surprisingly, included a small, quick hug), Morrigan had locked herself away to study its secrets.**

**Wynne rested and read, and Leliana found several books with old Orlesian and Fereldan poetry.**

**Roland spent his time going over his armor and weapons, as did Alistair.**

**But for Adela, there really wasn't much for her to do. She spent time with Irving and Niall, and watched as Artemis, again, tried to coerce Roland into trying something 'different'. That the human knight was more than unresponsive did not deter the small mage whatsoever.**

**She also met with Teagan, asking him for an accounting of when he had last seen Loghain. The picture the man painted had not been pleasant, one wherein the Teyrn had threatened, taunted and trampled on the rights of the sovereign lords. He had also told her of the pale, withdrawn woman who had once been the vibrant Anora standing behind the man, allowing him to speak for the realm in her stead. Feeling an ache in her heart, questioning the Bann and listening to his patient answers, Adela could only find that she needed to resign herself to the fact that Loghain had not been the person she, Cailan and Anora had believed him to be. Or rather, that he had changed immeasurably. **

**And that it was very possible that he, in whatever insanity had its grip upon him, had left his king, the Wardens and countless soldiers to perish on the field at Ostagar. **

**She thanked Teagan, pressing her hand to his arm, fighting against the tears that she was determined not to shed until she was alone, she turned abruptly and sought out her solace.**

**Later, her eyes stinging and red, her face feeling as though it burned, she inventoried the entire group's supplies and sent out orders to the blacksmith and grocer. That took the rest of the first day.**

**That evening, she found herself dwelling back on questions she had about the Grey Wardens, questions that still had not been answered. And so, she decided to search out her favorite - albeit completely incomplete - source of all things Grey Warden.**

**She located Alistair polishing his armor in his rooms and took a seat next to the young man on his bed.**

**The young man looked up from his work, an easy grin on his face. He recognized that look on her face. It was one he had learned meant 'I need answers, and guess who's going to give them to me?' He dreaded that look. "What is it, Adela?" he asked, maintaining his grin and setting his armor aside. **

**She looked up at Alistair, returning his grin. "I have a few questions about being a Grey Warden." Her head tilted to the side. "I know that it's impossible for you to remember everything, so if you could just try and clear up some questions as they spring to my little mind, that would be fine."**

**Alistair nodded, indicating for her to continue.**

"**First, what is the Calling?"**

**An open hand slapped his forehead. "I forgot to mention that, didn't I?" Adela nodded. "The Calling is what occurs at the end of a Warden's thirty years. The nightmares return, apparently worse than they were in the beginning of a Warden's career, and the Warden knows it's his time, that the end is near. Usually, the Warden will go to the deep roads in Orzammar and kill as many darkspawn until killed."**

"**Why Orzammar?"**

**Alistair shrugged. "There are always darkspawn in the deep roads." He frowned a bit. "The Warden goes down and kills as many darkspawn as possible. The dwarves respect us for it."**

**The elf shivered at the thought. "Is that how a Warden is supposed to…die?"**

"**No," he admitted, "it's mostly tradition."**

**The elf watched Alistair as he spoke, saw the resigned fear that showed there. "And what about children?"**

**A very confused look appeared on his face. "Pardon?"**

"**Children, Alistair. You know, young people."**

**He turned his head slightly, "I know what children are, Adela. I'm not sure I know what the question is."**

**She leaned closer to the other Warden, frowning, concern showing so clearly on her face. "Can Wardens have children?"**

"**What brought this on?" he asked, confused, and not sure he wanted to have **_**this **_**conversation with her.**

**She sighed, running her hands through her hair as she turned her back to her friend. "I had reason to be concerned that perhaps I was pregnant a while back," Alistair frowned, and then scowled, recalling her telling him of the rape. "But Wynne assured me that I was fine, save that, well, there were signs pointing to that possibility." She relaxed a bit. "Those signs have, fortunately, resolved themselves." She turned back to him. "But, something Wynne said raised questions in my mind and now I find that I need to know: did any of the wardens you knew have families?"**

**Understanding dawned on him, and he nodded. "There were a few who were married and had children. And, I think some of those had children after joining." A frown marred his face. "But, they were men. I have no idea about female wardens having children." He turned to fully face her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "This is very important to you, isn't it?"**

**She bowed her head, trying very hard to let go of the fresh wave of anger she was currently feeling toward Duncan. She nodded. "Very much so." She sighed, moving forward and placing her head on Alistair's chest. The young man took advantage of her close proximity and put his arms around her. "All of my life I had wanted children." She chuckled a little against him. He rather liked the feel of it. "I know it may sound silly, especially where we're facing a Blight and I am not even betrothed any longer, but, for a moment, it was like all of the rest of my dreams were about to be tossed away." She looked up. "And I don't really have very many dreams left to hold onto. Giving this one up would have been, well…too much."**

**A large, calloused hand brushed stray locks of blond from her eyes, and warm, amber eyes gazed into the peerless depths of elven blue. "If I have anything to say about it," he whispered, gazing into her eyes, "you won't have to give up anymore of your dreams." **

**She smiled, thinking that there was no way he could even contemplate keeping that promise, but that she very much appreciated the sentiment anyway. "I suppose we need to stop the Blight first?" She shook her head, feeling a little foolish. "No sense in getting caught up in dreams while the nightmare still needs to be dealt with."**

**Her fellow Warden snorted and chuckled. "Yes, I suppose so." His look turned thoughtful. "Speaking of family," a wistful smile crossed his young face, "I'd also like to set up a memorial or something for Duncan," he sighed, "I think he was from Highever." He looked hopefully at the elf in his arms. "Maybe I'll go there after all of this is done and set something up for him."**

"**I think he would like that," Adela smiled, and then pushed herself away from him. Alistair gave small whine at that. "Maybe I can go with you when you do."**

"**I think that Duncan would have liked that quite a lot."**

"**It's too bad that the Warden headquarters is at the palace," the elf said. "I'd really like to get some of the records from there while we were in Denerim."**

"**What about the safe house?" Alistair asked, recalling Duncan mentioning that in his letter to Adela.**

**She shrugged. "I planned on our checking it out, but I seriously doubt any records would be kept there. I think the safe house was mostly as a place to restock and hide when necessary."**

**They sat quietly for a moment, and then, Adela nodded her head, she clapped her hands together once, feeling much better than she had earlier. "Good. It's settled. So, for now, we'll just go ahead and find the lost Urn of Sacred Ashes, get these silly treaties acknowledged, kill the Archdemon and then set up a memorial." She grinned up into his face. "Now, what else is there for us to do?"**

**Chuckling, Alistair nudged her with his shoulder. "Let's get some sleep and see what the morning brings, eh?"**

**DA:O**

**While wandering the castle Adela happened upon the scaled model of Castle Redcliffe her father had created years ago, the very artwork that had graduated Adela from apprentice to artist. The sculpture - created from wood, ivory, stone and metal - lay sprawled along the vast mantle of the fireplace in the great hall where they had earlier battled against a possessed Teagan and the undead guards. She stood staring at it, and when Teagan found her admiring it, he began to tell her of its creation and how it had been a naming day gift to Eamon from the king and queen. Grinning broadly, Adela then advised the Bann that it had been crafted by her father and herself, and she explained how it had been crafted using an artist's rendering of the castle. Dumbfounded, the Bann stammered an apology, unaware that the artist herself stood beside him. With a gentle shake of her head, she told him there was no need for an apology, and she should have stopped him then moment he began to speak. Her only excuse for not doing so: she enjoyed listening to others talk of her work, and was always amazed at how others may view the creations of her father and herself. She expressed gratitude that it had been given such a prominent place in the castle.**

**And so, inspired, she settled down with wood in hand, examining it, seeking the form buried within the wood. She looked up, frowning. She wanted to create something for Isolde, but carving it from wood was not the medium it should be in. Deciding to put that idea aside, she turned back to the wood, and began carving off the pieces that did not belong. **

**She hoped Roland would like it.**

**DA:O**

**The next day dawned cool with a light breeze, the sun shining and barely a cloud in the sky. The group left early after a light breakfast with the Bann. Wynne was remaining behind, as the Arlessa still needed healing, and the elder mage did not feel it safe just yet to leave her. So, it was decided that Niall, a competent healer in his own right, would accompany the group in her stead. The mage was nervous, but excited about the possibility of visiting Denerim, a city he recalled vaguely from his childhood before being taken away by the Templars for the Tower. After their farewells to Wynne, Irving, Teagan and Artemis (who was not happy about being left behind), the group left the castle to head to Denerim.**

**Niall walked beside Adela for much of the morning, still trying to convince the reluctant elf of his idea of sending her into the Fade. Adela would only shake her head, telling him that if she ever decided to give that particular experiment a try, it would be well after the Blight was ended. The mage frowned, trying to look pitiful. Adela only laughed, telling him that the puppy dog eyes don't even work on her when Hafter tries them. Niall glanced over at the dog, which was at that moment chasing after squirrels and promptly gave up.**

**Her eyes wandered back, taking in her companions who followed. As always, the Sten marched at the rear, confident that his blade could cut down any ambushing foe with ease. Adela found that she shared that confidence.**

**Leliana walked slightly in front of the massive warrior, her bow slung with ease over one delicate shoulder, her face withdrawn, her eyes glancing every now and again toward the dark and brooding figure of Morrigan, who marched ahead of her with purposeful strides, completely and obviously ignoring the doe eyed glances of the Orlesian. Adela felt a bit of pity for the Orlesian; Morrigan had steadfastly rebuked every advance the red head had made, and had not always done so nicely.**

**Roland and Alistair walked just behind the elf and mage, talking with ease to one another. **_**Most likely discussing weapons and armor**_**, the elf grinned to herself, turning her attention back forwards. **

**Niall was a pleasant traveling companion. He was quiet, thoughtful and she found herself smiling often as he stared at the wide world they now travel along. Ever since her first visit to the tower, the elf had felt pity and sympathy for the mages imprisoned therein. Never to be treated as people, never allowed any semblance of freedom. In her mind, the Tower, despite the luxuries it may present on the surface, was a far worse place to live than any Alienage she had ever heard of. **

**So, while Niall gazed about, gathering elf roots and death root along their path, the conversation of the two men behind her a background buzz, Adela allowed herself to think back to the conversation she and Teagan had regarding Loghain. The pain was still there; the pain that someone she had known for more than half of her life, who had always treated her as an equal, who would admonish her for ever considering herself 'just an elf', had betrayed all that he had fought for. **_**Perhaps it was time to let go of my childhood infatuation**_**, she thought glumly, looking up into the sky**_**. I just wish it could have been a far easier release.**_** She frowned, knowing full well that regardless of what may have happened, she would always respect Loghain, and despite what he may have done now, he would always be a hero to her.**

**She heard Alistair laugh aloud at something Roland had said, and found herself smiling, glancing back as the Warden clapped a hand upon the other warrior's shoulder. Roland was grinning, wiping a gauntleted hand across his eyes, swiping away a tear of laughter. Her eyes settled upon Alistair's smiling face and, seeing her look, the blond man's smile widened, revealing perfect white teeth. The elf's smile widened and Roland turned to her, offering a mischievous wink.**

**With a shake of her head, the elf continued to lead the group westward, toward Denerim.**

**DA:O**

**Dark eyes watched as the group passed by, narrowing slightly with disdain. They then settled upon the smiling face of the red haired man, joking with the other human man, flirting with the elf. Blinking slowly, the figure moved silently between the trees and through the underbrush, shadowing the group's progress westward.**

**DA:O**

**Darkness fell quickly, and the group had to gather wood and light a fire before they were able to do anything else for preparing camp. The cool breeze that had been pleasant during their walk turned bitter. The campfire added light and warmth to the area.**

**Hafter had gone hunting, returning to camp three times with barely mangled rabbits in mouth. Giggling, Adela and Leliana sat down and skinned the rabbits while Alistair and Roland took on the extra duties of setting up their tents while the two women cut the meat into pieces, tossing them into a pot of boiling water. Morrigan added herbs and wild vegetables to the soup, making it far more palatable. **

**After supper was eaten, Adela made the rounds of speaking with each companion, as had become her habit during their journeys. **

**The Sten had finally deigned to answer her ongoing questioning of why he had killed the members of the farm hold. To the elf, that had seemed almost out of character. He told her of his and his brethren's encounter of darkspawn at Lake Calenhad, and how he had been the only one to survive, thanks to the farmers taking him in. When he had discovered that his sword, Asala, was missing, he panicked, killing every member of the farm hold. With a tilt of her head, the elf remarked that she would never have known the Qunari to panic, and, with obvious shame, the giant proceeded to tell that the sword had been for his hand alone; without it, he could never return home without being mistaken for a traitor. Adela searched the giant's face, noting the rare emotion - shame - that crossed his broad features. **

"**We'll find it," the elf promised, laying a tiny hand on his massive arm. His lavender eyes fixed on the small appendage.**

"**Perhaps those are empty words," he replied heavily, his eyes rising to meet hers, "however they are appreciated." He bowed his head. "Thank you, Warden." With those words, he stepped away to meditate.**

**Morrigan was in no humor to speak that evening, still enthralled with her mother's grimier as well as studiously avoiding the Orlesian.**

**Leliana, on the other hand, was very much in the mood to speak, apologizing for keeping a secret, and confessing that she was trained as a bard back in Orlais. Adela's blue eyes widened; she recalled her mother telling her of Maric's mistress, an Orlesian bard who ended up betraying them all. Leliana quieted, her head bowed somewhat as the elf studied her, thinking over the many talents the red head had displayed during their time together. Why she hadn't seen it before was beyond her, and she gave a silent apology to her mother. **

"**Thank you, Leliana," the elf replied quietly. The bard looked up, surprise in her eyes. She knew how well Adela valued honesty. Knew also the elf's predisposition against Orlesians on the whole and, with a mother who had fought against Orlais during the rebellion, how against bards in general she would have been. Adela saw these thoughts flicker in the blue eyes upon her face, and offered up a small smile. "Leli," she said, using the nickname the bard had tried getting her to use before, "we have been traveling together for some time now." Her smile broadened, and Leliana's expression lifted. "We are friends, and I can understand why you may not have said anything before now." She stepped closer, offering a hug to the human woman. "If you ever want to talk about anything," she pushed her arm, keeping her hands on her shoulders. "All you need to do is say something."**

**The Orlesian took a deep breath and thanked the elf. With a quick kiss to Adela's smooth cheek, the bard bounded off for her tent, wanting to take in some reading before it grew too late.**

**Niall was exhausted and had retired for the evening. Roland and Alistair were busy sparring. Smiling at the pair, the elf gathered her carving tools and sat upon the ground, her back against a log the Sten had pulled into the camp's center earlier, and began to work the wood into the shape.**

**DA:O**

**The next day found the group battling against a large group of darkspawn. The monsters had ambushed a caravan of refugees, who were holding their own against the dark threat, but tiring quickly. Adela and Leliana took stances opposite from each other, raining arrows upon the field, removing many of the darkspawn from the fight.**

**Morrigan threw her cold spells out, freezing several of the beasts. Then, with a quick word, shape shifted into the form of the great black wolf, rushing at the large bodies of the hurlock that blocked their path. Hafter, having long since gotten used to the human in wolf shape, charged at her side, knocking a group of genlock from their feet.**

**Niall, his main focus being in healing and creation, kept casting healing and rejuvenating spells upon the warriors, casting glyphs of warding as well as paralysis as needed. Spotting the hurlock emissary further in the back of the darkspawn group, the mage cast a paralysis spell, followed closely by a glyph of repulsion. The ensuing explosion paralyzed several of the hurlock in the emissary's vicinity. The refugees battling in that area were able to quickly dispatch the paralyzed darkspawn.**

**The Sten's great sword swept out and around, cleaving one genlock in half at the waist as it continued its circuit to decapitate another genlock, and then severely injuring a third. **

**Alistair's shield met the emissary's face, crushing its nose, its forehead bashing soundly against the hard metal, knocking it to the ground. The Warden swung his blade up and then down, driving it point first into the emissary's chest, killing it as the finely wrought blade punctured its heart. With a deep breath, he turned to engage another nearby foe.**

**Ducking beneath the sweeping arc of the hurlock's axe, Roland jabbed out with his sword, slipping easily into the ill made armor the beast wore. It growled down at him as he twisted the blade, straightening, and then slamming his shield into its ugly face. It staggered, but did not fall, bringing its weapon to bear against the human. The knight allowed a small, humorless smile upon his lips as he pulled his blade free to quickly jab it once again into the hurlock's body. The growl turned into a scream of pain as the blade found a vital organ. Satisfied, the knight twisted, jabbed in further, jerked the blade to the side, cutting into the organs of the tainted creature. With a gurgle, the darkspawn fell from his blade, dropping gracelessly to the blood soaked ground.**

**The battle was over in minutes. All of the darkspawn were dead; many of the refugees lay upon the tainted ground never to rise again, but the majority had lived and, in these ill times, that was enough. Refusing a reward, Adela gathered her party, making certain that everyone was still in one piece. Any injuries were tended to by Niall, who had also aided the refugees with healing as well. The leader of the group advised the Wardens that they are heading to Highever, seeking refuge there. Adela told them that they may want to turn around and head to Redcliffe, that ill tidings have come out from Highever, and that the fishing village was in need of residents as well as those willing to fight. She smiled as she indicated that this group definitely proved the latter. The leader thought about it a moment, and decided to take the Warden upon her suggestion. With a final thanks, the refugees repacked their belongings, searched out any wandered off livestock, and then turned their path toward the fishing village of Redcliffe.**

**Later that evening found the companions camped alongside the road yet again.**

**And none of them were aware of the pair of dark eyes watching.**

**DA:O**

**The next day brought them nearer to Denerim. Adela's feet had a sluggish feel, her legs heavy, her heart sore at the thought of returning to the city. She did not doubt that she and Alistair, along with their rag tag assortment of companions, could blend in well within the city, so full with refugees and foreigners as it was bound to be. Her internal battle was over whether to visit the Alienage. She had fears that, regardless of what the Captain of the Guard may have said when Duncan conscripted her, those dwelling within the contained community may have suffered for her crimes. And so she walked as though weights had been shackled upon her ankles, each step harder to take than the last.**

**Alistair was not oblivious to the elf's strange behavior. She was always the one to encourage the others to pick up the pace, quicken their steps, maybe even start a tidy little tune to march by (well, that was always Alistair's contribution). So, he moved to her side, trying to get her to speak. But, whatever was weighing her down also seemed to have sewn her mouth shut. So, he countered in the only way he could: he kept talking.**

"**So," he had been rambling on for many minutes, watching the elven woman from the corner of his eye, "you know how Arl Eamon raised me, right?"**

**That got a reaction: the elf actually scoffed at the 'raised me' part. He flinched a little, knowing well just what Adela thought of Art Eamon's child rearing techniques. He plunged on.**

"**Well, anyway, my mother was a servant, and she apparently had a daughter from a prior relationship," Adela looked up at the taller human, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Her name is Goldanna," the other warden continued, glad to at least get her attention. "Ah, here daughter, that is. And she lives in Denerim. In the market district I believe."**

**She turned, "Goldanna is your sister?" her voice was calm.**

**He nodded. "You know of her?"**

"**Yes," she admitted, not certain what to say. She knew Goldanna. Goldanna worked days as a laundress and had a sharp tongue and little to no love for elves of any sort. She also had a great many children, but no husband. She had heard rumors about the woman, but had never truly paid any attention. Both Adela and Cyrion had made a conscious decision to not share any of their gold with the taciturn woman. And, because of their varied circles of friends, had seen that others did not visit upon the woman - in whatever capacity her services may range.**

**But, here was Alistair, her friend, wanting to see the only living blood relative he had left. Perhaps Goldanna would prove to be more accepting…**

"**Alistair," her voice was very soft. "Do you want to visit her when we reach the city?"**

**Nodding enthusiastically, Alistair asked, "Can we?" There was such a hopeful, childlike tremor in his voice.**

**Adela smiled, her steps seeming less weighted. "Of course, Alistair," she tilted her head so that she could look into his face better. "For something this important, we can certainly make the time."**

**Relief flooding through him, Alistair did the only thing that seemed natural at the moment: he gave a whoop, pulled the elf into his arms, and gave her a sound kiss on her surprised mouth.**

**The elven warden's cheeks flushed bright pink and Alistair, realizing what he had just done, had the sense to blush his own crimson. Wynne and Leliana found it amusing, while Morrigan merely scoffed with disgust. The Sten kept his own opinion to himself, and Niall, for some reason, looked embarrassed. Roland, however, graced the male warden with a glare as he strode over and gently pulled Adela from his arms, pulling her along. Alistair watched as the knight bent down to whisper something to the elf and the others walked by.**

**Feeling a bit silly for acting so impulsively, the young warden followed closely behind.**

**DA:O**

**Entering the city was no trouble. No one gave even the armed elf a second glance, something that surprised them all. Roland bent forward slightly, offering that perhaps the influx of refugees also brought in mercenaries, many of which could very well be elven. Adela nodded; that theory made the most sense and would work well in their favor. If mercenaries had infiltrated the city, then their rather odd group would do well to blend in even better than initially anticipated.**

**They made their way westerly, through the winding streets of the capital of Fereldan. Adela noticed that the streets seemed busier than she recalled, with many carts and wagons lining along the wide streets. With a start, she realized that many of those wagons were filled with families who apparently were living out of them. The streets were dirtier, more crowded, with more trash strewn about. Certainly not Fereldan's Capitol as she remembered. **

**Much of her distress was displayed openly upon her face and Roland, who had been walking beside her for some time, put an arm across her shoulders, pulling her close and offering words of encouragement. The knight, who had also frequented the city with the Teyrn and his family on numerous occasions, felt the general wrongness of the city that was known as the Jewel of Fereldan.**

**The further into the city, the closer to the market place, the more of a sense of that wrongness assailed not just the elf who had lived there or the knight who was most familiar with the place, but the others as well. Faces they passed by were blank slates, or fearful masks. Even children could sense it and so there were few running and playing in the streets, little cries of joy or screaming in play. The closer to the market place they came, the more oppressed the atmosphere. Adela had to fight the urge to just turn around and run away. Run as far as she could from the city of her birth, the city wherein dwelt her people, the city where almost everyone she had ever cared for lived (or so was her hope). **_**Run**_**? She shook herself mentally, setting that ridiculous notion aside. The only time in her life Adela had ever felt she had run away from anything was when Duncan had conscripted her into the Wardens. She took another look around. These people needed hope, and as far as Adela was concerned, that only hope was in the form of the two Wardens who walked the streets. Well, she amended looking over her rather odd assortment of friends, the two wardens and their merry band of misfits. **

**During her musings and courage gathering, Roland had slid up to her side, walking quietly beside her, watching as the array of emotions and thoughts crossed her face. When she finally noticed his presence, she looked up, giving him a half-hearted smile.**

"**Are you alright?" the knight asked, concern etched upon his handsome face. **

**Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "I'm just trying to fight the 'fight or flee' urge that suddenly overwhelmed me," she grinned up into his face. **

"**Oh?" he asked, a fine red brow rising in a good imitation of her own familiar gesture. "And are you winning?"**

**Chuckling, she bumped into him with her shoulder, which only came to about his elbow. The knight was chivalrous enough to at least pretend at a stumble. "I think that I'll be fine," her eyes were wandering again, taking not of the street that would lead them to the market district. "Perhaps if I could get word of the Alienage, that may help ease my concerns."**

**And so, to distract her from her concerns and growing worries, the knight started to tell the elven woman about the times he had visited Denerim. **

**He had spent a lot of his time at the Cousland estate located in the noble district, and then the palace guarding the family during official business. He spoke of his duties, and then segwayed into how he spent his times off duty with his fellow soldiers and knights.**

"**The Gnawed Noble's Tavern is a popular spot," he was saying in a rather off handed fashion. "They brag of having seventy-five different ales, even from Orzammar." He was grinning with fond memories, his eyes slightly distant. "I remember one night a bunch of us deciding to try each and every ale before we left Denerim for our perspective duties."**

**Frowning slightly, Adela said, "Oh, so just one of the boys, eh?" **

**Roland didn't quite catch the slightly disapproving tone in the young woman's voice. "For some of the best liquors, however, nothing beats the Pearl."**

**Here Adela's brows shot up to almost disappear into her hairline. "The Pearl?" She stopped, hands on her hips, staring at the knight. Alistair, who had been listening, tried hard to hide a smile at the expense of his rival. Roland, finally realizing what he had said and to whom he had said it, had the grace to flush slightly before stammering. "I-I only visited the tavern there," he did not want Adela to think of him as some kind of wenching human or that he frequented such establishments. **

"**Ah, ha," came her disbelieving comment. She glanced at Alistair, taking note of his struggles with his own face. With a shake of her head, she resumed leading their group to the market place. "Roland, what you do or have done is truly none of my business," Roland actually flinched at the biting tone her voice had. "However," she tilted her head toward him a bit. "I would certainly prefer not hearing about it."**

**Dipping his head slightly, the knight resumed his pace beside the elf, trying to salvage the conversation by telling her of the gardens at the Cousland estate. Alistair, who finally allowed the huge smile to find its place firmly on his face, marched a bit straighter than he had been previously.**

**The street leading into the market place narrowed slightly, and then turned a corner, opening wide to the square like center that was the Market District. Small homes lined the perimeter of the open courtyard that housed dozens of tents, awnings, carts and tables lined with items as varied as fruits and vegetables and other foodstuffs, to armor and weapons, jewelry and other trinkets. **

**The chantry over looked the entire area and, as always, a pair of priests stood just beyond the stone entryway, reciting the Chant of Light. **

**Hawkers shouted their wares; children ran about and around the feet of their mothers as they haggled and paid for their purchases. The combined odors of food, sweets, oils, leather and spices assailed their senses. Adela stopped, closing her eyes, inhaling the aromas. The sounds, sights and smells - all of these bespoke 'home' to the little elf.**

**She did not see the admiring smiles from both the knight and Warden. Nor the glares that each gave one another. **

**The elf opened her eyes, leading the group further into the district. Leliana instantly started her animated chatter, wanting to visit the stalls. Morrigan had stopped, staring about herself in wonder, her eyes settling upon the awning covered jewelry cart. Beside that cart was a stall filled with fine silks and other colorful materials. Both women, with a glance to one another, started heading to those stalls. Adela had to call them back, reminding them of the real reason they were in Denerim. Both women - no, really girls - started bemoaning the pretty cloth and jewels, and couldn't they just go and see? Did Adela really need all of them to meet with a stodgy old scholar anyway? It was the pair of them batting their eyelashes at the diminutive elf that finally made her just wave her hand at them, sending them away. They even giggled! Morrigan **_**giggled**_**!**

**The baker's cart caught the Sten's attention and the giant made a beeline toward the sweets, Hafter, who had taken a liking to the giant, close at his heels. Adela rolled her eyes when Niall of all people went and joined the massive warrior, eying the tasty treats out on display. **

_**Well**_**, she thought as she passed by her shopping friends, **_**at least Alistair and Roland didn't abandon me. **_

**Adela was too busy watching the four shoppers, smiling, that she did not notice when they approached Goldanna's home, situated along the market itself. Alistair's voice broke her reverie.**

"**That…that's it," he breathed, moving closer to the elf, nodding his head toward a small house. "I think that's the address." He glanced down at Adela, who had turned and was nodding her head in affirmation. "Can we…can we go in?" he seemed so childlike at that moment; Adela hoped Goldanna would not hurt him.**

"**Are you certain you want me to go in with you?" she asked, eyeballing the wooden door.**

**Confused, Alistair looked down at his friend. "Of course! Do you really think I could do something like this without you by my side?" He chuckled nervously. "I'd probably say something really stupid and then where we would be?"**

"**Alistair, you would never say anything so stupid that your sister would disown you," she said, although she wasn't certain how convincing she sounded.**

"**Pleeeeaassse?" He even clasped his hands in front of him, his eyes assuming such a pitiful puppy dog look. Roland merely rolled his eyes.**

**Biting her lower lip, certain that this was not going to end well, the elf relented. Roland offered to wait outside and so the pair entered the tiny home.**

**The entry was neat and tidy, and there was a strong smell of **_**clean **_**about the place. A feminine voice called from the back room, asking them to wait a moment. The pair glanced at one another, and a woman of perhaps thirty odd years approached, not fully focusing on the duo.**

"**I charge ten bits a bundle," she was saying, her obvious lack of education clearly apparent in her voice, "And don't go to that Natalya woman, she's foreign and will steal ya blind."**

**Her brown eyes focused on the pair, quickly dismissing Adela and turning to focus upon the handsome young man before her. The smile broadened a great deal, her hip jutted out and a slim hand perched thereon.**

"**Ahm," Alistair stammered, trying to gather his thoughts. Adela placed a small hand inside one of his larger ones. He glanced down briefly and then smiled. "I'm sorry," he turned back to his sister. "I'm not here for laundry, I'm…well, are you Goldanna?" The woman's eyebrow flinched up in irritation. "Sorry, yes, of course you are. Well, since you're Goldanna then that makes me, well, your brother," his voice cracked here a bit as a look of incredulity crossed the older woman's face. He cleared his throat. "I'm your brother," he said with far more confidence.**

"**My brother?" the woman's voice was soft, amazed. Her face and expression quickly hardened, her eyes taking on a calculating quality. "Fat lot of good that does me!" she scoffed, tossing her hands toward the stunned young man. "I told them that the babe was the king's, and all they told me was that mother and the babe was dead! Dead!" she nearly screeched. "Gave me a coin and a pat on my head, telling me to be on my way. Well," she stepped forward, a bony finger in Alistair's chest, who backed up against the door, his hand now clutching at Adela's. "That coin didn't last long, and when I went back for more they runned me off. Bah!" she scoffed again, scorn filling her voice.**

"**Goldanna," Adela spoke up, her voice calm and soothing, "Alistair came here to find his family…"**

"**Phwt!" the human woman spat. "And who are you?" she demanded, taking a menacing step to the smaller elf, "Some knife-eared tart out for his money?"**

_**Money**_**? Before Adela could respond, Alistair straightened, his amber eyes taking on a hard look, "Don't you dare talk to her that way!" he took a step forward, Goldanna retreated. "She's my friend, and a Grey Warden, like I am!"**

"**Ooohhh…." the woman taunted, "Fancy that, a Prince and a Grey Warden too. Well, who am I to speak to those so much more worthy than I!" her voice was venom. "I don't know you, **_**boy**_**. All I know is that you killed mother, and left me with five hungry mouths to feed! If you can't see to it that your family lives as they should, then I have less than no use for you!"**

**Alistair was taken aback. His good heart wanted to make certain that his family was, indeed, taken care of. But any funds they did have were used to feed, armor and resupply the group as they continued on their quest to stop the Blight. He glanced down at the elf, who was staring at the human woman with an almost unreadable expression. **

"**Adela…" he began, but she shook her head, still staring at the human woman.**

"**No, Alistair," she said firmly, "we have worked hard for whatever coin we have, and we need it far more than this **_**wench **_**does!"**

**The woman's eyes narrowed, and she screeched at them to leave her home. With a final glare at the other woman, Adela turned Alistair around and pushed him out the door, slamming it forcefully behind her.**

**And she steered him well away from the other companions, around the corner, and against a wall. Her hands on his chest, Adela could feel the tension leave the young man. She looked up into his face and saw utter disappointment there.**

"**I'm sorry, Alistair," she said softly, a hand reaching up to stroke his cheek. He bowed his head slightly.**

"**I cannot believe that I've wondered my whole life about that…that gold digging harridan!" he wanted to shout, but didn't. A hand rose up to cover Adela's much smaller one. "Thank you," he whispered, bringing her hand down and giving it a kiss. "I needed you there."**

**The elf nodded, stepping forward to give him a hug. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "But, you know," she looked him in the eye, a smile curving her lips. "You don't need that hussy. You have plenty of people who care about you."**

"**Yeah, right," he mumbled, "Duncan was the only person who did, and he's dead."**

**Her brow rose and she gave him a slight push. "Hey! What am I?" she teased smiling. "I care about you too, you know."**

**Now it was Alistair biting his lower lip. "Hey, yeah," he quipped, pulling her close into another hug, kissing the top of her head. "You do, don't you?"**

**She nodded, pulling away. "Come on," she pulled at his hand, "we've a scholar to see, some more shopping to do. And," she grinned. "a Warden safe house to explore."**


	22. Chapter 22

_I own nothing save for Adela. Bioware has my eternal gratitude for creating this world and letting me play in their sandbox._

_I'm still not going canon with the game or the books - just some twists to make things fit to my story. _

_I had a "duh" moment with Chapter 21 - how, if I had left Wynne at Redcliffe, was she tottering around at the fabric stall in Denerim? I've fixed that and am not sure whether to be glad or so very, very sad no one noticed? I'll be glad - it means that you were all so caught up in the rest of the story to notice. Yeah, that's what I'll tell myself!_

_As always, thank you all for the reviews: mutive, Biff McLaughlin, Arsinoe de Blassenville, zevgirl, mutive, CCBug. And thanks to everyone who has been alerting and favoriting this as well. You have no idea how much this means! Reviews & even concrit are welcome (well, kinda. Okay, okay…marginally welcome)._

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 22_

Adela decided to wait until later to see the scholar, as she was unsure as to the length of time they would spend speaking with the brother. _If he's even here_, she thought to herself. So, her companions continued to shop at the market. Even Alistair and Roland had turned to the dwarven merchant selling weapons and armor from Orzammar. Grinning at the group, especially at the bouncing Hafter begging sweets from the Sten, the elf turned to a nearby fletcher's booth.

As she walked over, she passed by an older knight, dressed in shining armor, his blond hair pulled back with braids, his blue eyes piercing. The elf glanced up, and then away, thinking the man looked familiar but could not quite place him. As she neared the booth, she felt a firm hand on her arm, a whispered command to follow him. She looked up and frowned into the blond knight's face. Who was he, she wondered as she let him draft her to a side street beyond the Gnawed Noble Tavern.

"Adela Tabris," the knight almost hissed out, maintaining his composure. "I had thought you died along with the rest of the treacherous Wardens!"

She blinked, staring at the angered knight. _Ser Landry_! "Ser Landry," she replied, her voice calm. "I can assure you that the Wardens did not betray Cailan…"

"_King _Cailan!" he snarled. Then, collecting himself, he backed away, blinking to clear his eyes, but maintaining his grip on her upper arms. They were starting to hurt and she was certain she would have bruises had she not been wearing heavy leather. "I would never have thought that you of all people would betray your friend."

She firmly shook her head, stepping nearer the knight, assuming a strong posture as she stared at him. "I have no idea what truly happened at Ostagar," the elf admitted. "However, the Grey Wardens' sole duty in life is the eradication of darkspawn and ending Blights. Why would they give up the King of Fereldan to darkspawn?" Her head tilted to the side, "What could they have gained dying on the field with the very monsters they are foresworn to destroy?"

Ser Landry's mouth opened, then closed. He shook his head. "Teyrn Loghain…"

But Adela cut him off, "Ser Landry," her voice was quiet, "Cailan, Anora and myself had noticed certain…oddities about Loghain's behavior lately." She watched the knight's face. Ser Landry had always been rather expressive, and she could see the doubt there as well. "You have noticed it as well, I take it?"

Releasing her arms, the knight brushed a gauntleted hand through his hair, mussing up the braids. "Adela, there have been many stressors…"

"Trust me," she placed a small hand on his arm. "I am aware of many of those. And Cailan and I had discounted his behavior as having to do with those. However, we have a dead king, dead Wardens, less than half the force we used to have, and still face a Blight."

Putting his hands back on her arms, Ser Landry stared into her eyes for several moments, trying to collect his thoughts. Both sets of eyes widened when a curved dagger was pressed under the knight's chin.

"I would strongly suggest that you release the lovely Warden, my friend," a heavily accented voice warned. Raising his hands, Ser Landry released Adela, taking a step back.

Adela was surprised to see Zevran of the Antivan Crows threatening the knight. "Ah, that is very good, yes?" the Antivan asked, still keeping his hold on the knight, the blade still at his throat.

"Zevran," the female elf warned, "remove the knife from Ser Landry's throat."

A golden brow rose, "Are you quite sure, my dear?" he didn't sound convinced. "After all, I watched as he pulled you back here, and then threatened you."

"A simple misunderstanding," the Warden explained, her eyes firm upon Zevran's tawny orbs. "Ser Landry is a friend, and a confused one at that," she offered the knight a small smile. "Please, Zevran, stop threatening this man."

Frowning, clearly not liking the idea of releasing the man he had watched threaten the woman who had spared his life, the Antivan Crow pulled back the knife, holding it aloft between thumb and palm, both hands upraised in a non-threatening gesture, as he backed away. "As you wish, my dear Grey Warden."

Certain the assassin would remain where he stood, the elven Warden turned back to the human knight. "Ser Landry," her voice was still quiet, but the man heard her and stepped closer. "Has anyone else commented upon Loghain's behavior?"

A frown crossing his noble face, the knight nodded. "A few of us have had occasion to comment upon it." He looked up. "I believe that Bann Alfstanna and Arl Wulff have been more outspoken about it, although not to the Teyrn himself."

Nodding, she advised, "I would suggest not taking Arl Howe into your confidences."

His face darkening, the knight nearly spat. "Howe! That lickspittle would never be included in any of our conversations regarding the weather." Fury was written across the man's lined face. "That _man _has somehow ingratiated himself as Loghain's closest advisor." His scowl deepened. Zevran moved closer, his knife ready, as he could not hear the words, but could definitely see that the human was irate.

That little bit of information was tucked away in Adela's mind, to be discussed with her companions at a later date. For now…

"Ser Landry," he turned to her. "Please, just keep an eye on Teyrn Loghain. And the queen, if possible," his eyes dulled at that. _Oh, so he hasn't been able to see her_, she thought. "Just let us continue trying to stop the Blight."

The knight bowed low, "You have my word, Adela, that I will not interfere." He straightened. "Perhaps later on, we may even be able to assist you."

"Keep safe," she placed a hand on his arm. "For now, we need to ensure that any allies we have are just kept safe."

With a final bow, the knight turned and walked away.

The female elf watched as Ser Landry turned the corner, thankful it was him who approached her and not someone more toadying to either Loghain or Howe. She knew the knight somewhat from her visits to the palace. He was a close friend to Loghain, someone who shared the same views regarding politics, nobles, and Orlais. He had always been respectful and kind to the elven artisan, stating once that he had long admired her mother, and she had no cause now to believe he would betray her and reveal her presence in the city.

_Of course_, she told herself as she turned her eyes to the male elf who was watching her with keen interest. _I had thought the same of Loghain_.

"Zevran of the Antivan Crows," she spoke, he smiled. "What in the name of the Maker are you doing here?"

"Ah, my dear," he said as smoothly as he walked to her side, gazing down at her. "I had thought much about the beautiful Grey Warden who so kindly spared my life. And I thought 'Zevran, how best could we repay the lovely one for her kindness?'" His eyes sparkled somewhat. "And, since it is doubtful you would accept one of my famous massages at so early an acquaintance, I decided to tail you," he grinned suggestively at that. The woman merely rolled her eyes. "and offer my blades to your service."

Adela blinked. Astonished. "You truly want me to allow you into our group?"

"Si," was his simple reply.

"You tried to kill me," she pointed out, poking a long, slender finger into his armored chest.

"And I failed," he quipped back, catching hold of her hand, holding it lightly, "spectacularly, I might add." He chuckled here, releasing her hand at her gentle tug. "As I told you, my life is forfeit. I have decided if that be the case, I would much rather spend it fighting against the Blight at the side of a most lovely creature than take my chances that a Crow blade never finds my back."

Standing there, her arms crossed against her chest, the elven Warden watched the elven assassin standing before her. He had a somewhat lascivious smile upon his lips, but it did not quite reach his eyes. There, she saw something else. Almost a desperation that he was trying hard to conceal. But it was there. He was desperate for her to accept him, to allow him to travel with them. That he feared for his life was unmistakable. That she could trust him was another issue.

"How am I to be able to trust you, Zevran of the Antivan Crows?" she asked, using the full title to remind him that she was not about to forget how he had come to cross her path.

Zevran bowed his head slightly. "All I can do is pledge an oath to serve you," he replied, his voice having lost the arrogant quality and was now just quiet. He raised his eyes to meet hers. "I have followed you from the ambush site to the tower, back to Redcliffe and then to here. There had been opportunities to ambush you, but instead I watched over you." He smiled here. "You have a nasty habit of going into the woods alone, my dear." He was rewarded by a widening of her eyes. "Of course, the two men you travel with never seem to want to leave you alone for too long."

His gaze was scrutinizing; he watched every reaction from the elven woman, a slight shift of posture, eyes widening, lips tightening. No, she did not like to hear that he had been trailing after her and her group. But, perhaps she would recognize how many opportunities he had to harm her?

She was biting her lower lip. The assassin found that rather charming. His eyes skimmed over her form, appreciating the very elven-ness of her figure: all slight curves and gentle slopes. All of her features were those of the elder elves - sharp, delicate, beautiful, long slender ears, delicately boned. The Antivan was rather surprised as in his experience many of those elves from Alienages had begun to look more human: smaller ears, broader features, as though close proximity to humans were bleeding away any elven features from their very bodies. Her very appearance reminded him of stories of the ancient elves, long before their enslavement to humans.

Adela, in turn, was watching Zevran, fully aware of his scrutiny, bold in her own. She took in his features as she had before: he was beautiful, as elven men tended to be. Not as beautiful as Nelaros, however. He was far shorter than her betrothed had been but still taller than herself, with tanned skin, darkened from time under the sun. His eyes were tawny and calculating, always measuring, searching for weaknesses. His mouth was wide and seemingly easy to smile, but that, too, the elven Warden supposed was part of the package - all charm, suave, deadly. His face, however, held a slight weariness to it, something that at first glance one would miss. Especially if one focused solely upon the beauty of the man before them. Which, she presumed, many did, to their detriment.

This was one who has never known trust, and never given it, either. However, here he was, before her, asking that he be trusted, to earn that trust. She tilted her head, continuing to worry her lower lip. She had no doubt that should she take him in, the others would keep a wary eye on him. Most especially Roland and Alistair. Morrigan's untrusting nature would make her a superb watcher over the assassin, and Leliana's own history as a bard would make her ideal for noting any change of attitude the elf may arrive at. The Sten trusted no one and was always ready to decapitate any foes.

"Yes," she said simply, watching as the elven assassin's posture relaxed slightly, his eyes became less wary, and the general tiredness she had read across his features eased. "You will understand, however, that I will want your weapons handed over for a time," she held out a hand. She watched as his eyes narrowed slightly, then glanced down at her hand. Frowning, the assassin did as instructed, handing over the two curved daggers he wore strapped to his hips. He pulled his bow free. She raised a brow at him. He returned the gesture with a grin, and then promptly started divesting himself of hidden knives and daggers concealed upon his body. A respectable pile formed on the ground before them.

Adela actually laughed, turning a smile upon the startled assassin. "Pick them up," she waved at the pile, still laughing. "If you had that many knives hidden on your person," she chuckled, watching as he bent to retrieve his weaponry, "you most likely have even more." She watched as he tucked the weapons into their hidden places, taking note of each spot, fully aware that the assassin most likely would change their positions later when unobserved. Once he was situated, she handed him back his bow and daggers. "You wouldn't be much good without your weapons," she remarked, shaking her head. "A wonder you don't accidentally cut yourself on all that blade!"

This time Zevran shared in the laugh, certain now that it was not truly at his expense. "Ah, my dear Warden," he purred, sidling to her side, "it is a matter of how well they are positioned," his smile took on a more suggestive meaning. "Every dagger can find a sheath."

Blushing at the blatant innuendo, the elven woman shook her head. "Fine, fine. Now you get to meet the rest of the party." Her grin broadened. "Some of them will be very interested in making your acquaintance, I am certain."

"Ah, yes," he quipped, stepping in beside her, his strides matching her own, fully aware of the glances the beautiful 'couple' was receiving from those they passed by. "I get to meet the family, as it were. I have watched them long enough, yes?" He grinned down at the smaller elf, who merely shook her head. "I promise not to embarrass you."

DA:O

To say that Zevran's inclusion into the company was well received would have been a blatant lie. As predicted, both Roland and Alistair strongly and vehemently opposed the idea of having someone who had actively tried to kill Adela tag along. The Sten grumbled at the idea, but otherwise remained silent. Morrigan made a biting comment about being aware of poisoned food, to which Zevran responded that it was always a good suggestion wherever they may be. Niall remained relatively quiet, although his dark eyes remained fixed upon Zevran's face for many moments. She could only guess at what Wynne would say once they reunited with her at Redcliffe. Leliana alone seemed to think that having an Antivan Crow in the group was a good idea. When the elf quipped out a compliment to the bard about traveling in the company of such fine looking women, she frowned at him heavily, amending her earlier acceptance.

Alistair, quite concerned, pulled Adela aside. "Are you certain about this?" he asked.

"Alistair," she took his hands in hers. "We need all the help we can get. He is very skilled, and I have you and Roland and the others watching him," she missed the scowl Alistair gave at the mention of the red haired knight. "If he gets out of line, he dies. The Sten will see to that."

The human Warden bent his head down, his forehead touching hers. "He's already tried to kill you once," he reminded her.

"And failed, with only myself, Roland and Hafter," she reminded him. "What could he possibly do with everyone about?" She nudged him playfully in the shoulder. "With you watching out for me?"

The other Warden watched her carefully, appreciating her confidence in him to watch over her, but feeling it greatly unfair of her to do so. She may not return his feelings, and he had never known her to use her 'feminine wiles' on him before, but there was a first time for everything. He looked into her smiling face; no, he realized, she wasn't playing with him. She truly trusted in his ability to look after her. He was relieved. He didn't want to think that Adela had picked up any habits on how to control a man from either Leliana or Morrigan, both women who had no end of male attentions wherever they went.

Of course he could not resist that she had such faith in him. So, "Fine, fine," he acquiesced, raising his hands in defeat. "But if ever there was an indication we're desperate," he waved his hands toward the elven assassin, who was watching the pair with interest, "I think it just came knocking."

"Thank you, Alistair," Adela smiled. "I appreciate the vote of confidence," she giggled at the look he gave her.

Roland had wanted to argue further about Zevran's inclusion, but with Alistair agreeing he had no chance of success. And, since Adela was technically the leader of their motley band, Alistair her second, the decision had been made and the others - the knight included - would just have to accept that.

But, he meant to keep a close watch over the slippery elf.

DA:O

The Sten, Leliana and Morrigan offered to take Zevran back to camp and watch over him. The rest decided to do some more shopping before seeking out Brother Genetivi's home.

As they rounded a corner, the Wonders of Thedas, a popular and fairly famous magic shop, came into sight.

"Oh!" Alistair exclaimed, smiling. "I remember Arl Eamon bought me a golem doll from here when I was a child."

"A golem doll?" Adela asked, her eyes twinkling.

"Ahm, well…not so much a doll," the young man quickly amended, "more of a statuette, an action figure. One that didn't move." He finished lamely.

"Ah ha," the elf said, filing that bit of information away for later.

Flushing, Alistair opened the door to the shop, letting the others pass within before following.

Niall was, obviously, completely at home, browsing the wares, speaking with the quiet tranquil proprietor. Adela was browsing through the selection of mage robes when she found something unique. Pulling it free of its hanger, the elf examined the material.

A fairly clingy material, similar to that used for the mage robes found in the shop, it was cut in a low 'V' neckline, bare arms (perfect for an archer) and a short skirt. Despite the neckline, it was not nearly as revealing as her Dalish armor. The tranquil walked over to her, explaining that these were Robes of the Rogue, an outfit some mages wore when they wished for more dexterity and protection as opposed to the usual garb that granted benefits to spell casting. After advising that the Robes would offer her as much - if not more - protection than the heavier studded leather she currently wore, the elf handed him the sovereigns he asked for, determined to give the Robes a try in battle.

The others made their own purchases, and together they left the shop.

Instead of turning to the right to head back into the main body of the market, Adela turned the group to the left, toward an abandoned warehouse. Finding the door locked, the elf deftly picked the lock and opened the door. The warehouse was dark and uninviting, but she led them inside anyway.

Niall whispered a word of magic, and a small glowing orb formed floating above his open palm, casting the interior of the abandoned warehouse in a soft light.

Crates and chests, shelves and mannequins filled the main chamber of the storage facility. None carried the insignia of the Grey Wardens.

Passing through a narrow doorway, Adela spotted the bookshelf outlined in Duncan's letter. Taking Alistair by the arm, asking the others to wait in the first chamber, Adela moved toward the bookshelf, searching for the mechanism she knew would be there.

_Ah, there you are_, she thought as she stepped to the side of the bookshelf, pushing gently on the board that made up the shelf's side. It clicked, and then with gentle fingers she pushed it upwards. Beneath the board was revealed a series of small wooden squares, set into the framework of the shelf. Adela placed a gentle finger on one and found that they moved about the frame. Upon each square were symbols, unknown to the elven warden. She reached into her pouch and pulled out Duncan's note. After studying the combination he had written there, the elf began moving the squares around, pushing one to the side, another up, another down…continuing on until the patterns upon the squares formed the likeness of a claw. Alistair sucked in his breath behind her. "A griffon's claw," he murmured as a clicking sound came from the shelf. Looking at her fellow warden, Adela gave the shelf a shove to the side, and it slid over, revealing a smaller room.

As they stepped beneath the threshold, the room lit up, the sconces on the walls glowing with magical light. Alistair let out a low whistle as they surveyed the crates, chests, weapon racks and armor stands.

Much of what they found therein was on par with equipment they already had, yet some were of a far better quality. One set of silverite plate mail seemed a perfect fit for Alistair. The young warden complained about carrying all that metal, explaining it reminded him far too much of Templar armor. Adela reminded him that he was the one who often found himself in the very center of battle and she, for one, would feel better if he wore something sturdier than the splint he current wore. The warden agreed, determining that if he had to wear plate, Roland would as well and began a search for armor that would fit the smaller man.

There was no way that the group could carry all of the equipment found therein, and Adela felt strange about contemplating taking it to sell. So, they took what they needed - two sets of plate (Alistair planned to wait until they returned to camp to spring his little 'gift' upon Roland), a set of leather that looked as though it would fit Zevran (Adela thought the armor he currently wore was rather substandard), back packs, dried and canned rations, bandages and other sundries, a few bladed weapons - and relocked the room.

DA:O

Their packs laden with the equipment they acquired from the safe house, the group resumed their search for Brother Genetivi's home. Adela did not know of the Brother nor where his home was located, other than that it was in the Market District. As she led her companions around, trying to get a bearing (she had thought perhaps he would live near the Chantry, but that guess was a bust), she found herself staring at the closed gate to the Alienage. An unknown guard stood vigil at the gate, and as she neared, she noticed that the gate was bound with chains and locked. Panic gripped her and she did not notice the concerned calls of her companions as she dropped her pack to the ground and sprinted toward the gate.

A heavily armored man with dark brown hair and a kind face spotted her and rushed to intercept her. Roland and Alistair both dropped their own packs and hurried over, hands on their swords, ready to defend the elf. The unknown man arrived at her first, grabbing hold of her arm and pulling her away from the gate before the guard there noticed her approach. The two knights noticed the elf's startled expression as her eyes fixed upon her assailant's face and saw her struggle against his firm hand, shaking her head and pointing toward the gate. The man only brought his other hand around and grasped both of Adela's arms in his, continuing to pull her aside, saying something to her, a determined look upon his face. He was speaking lowly to her, and she seemed to calm somewhat, although there was an almost wild look in her eyes. Alistair and Roland made it to her side, hands on their weapons, looking as threatening as they could at the unknown man.

Sensing both men's unease and battle ready, Adela held a hand to the side, her arm still held by the third man. "Easy," she whispered, trying to get herself to relax. Her eyes fell back to the man who had intercepted her, his eyes alert and wary against the two men who came to the elf's rescue. He looked over her shoulder to spy the mage, a great warhound at his feet, who had moved closer and was watching with great interest.

She turned her eyes back to the older man, who now turned his own eyes fully upon the elf he held. "Michael?" she whispered, frowning deeply, "What is going on?"

'Michael' breathed a sigh of relief, releasing the elf. "I was concerned that you would get to the gates," he said, his voice hoarse and low, "Things are bad in the Alienage and if someone recognized you…""

Adela paled; Alistair moved closer, putting his arm around her shoulder, tucking her under his arm. Biting her lip, she closed her eyes. "How bad is it?" she asked, trembling.

"I'll not lie to you, Adela," Michael said, stepping slightly forward, his head bent, in an effort to keep their conversation between himself, the elf and her companions. "Once word got out about the…'incident' at the Arl's estates, people were rioting near the Alienage." He frowned. "The Captain had tried to maintain order, and so locked the Alienage down to protect the residents. But," he stopped there, his voice seeming to give out.

"What?" she barely squeaked, certain she knew the answer.

Michael took a deep breath before continuing. "The new Arl, this Rendon Howe," Roland stiffened at his name, "ordered a purge of the Alienage."

"No," she whispered, her knees very nearly giving out. Alistair tightened his hold on her. Roland glanced back at the mage and motioned Niall nearer, fearing that Adela would have need of his aid. He then stepped closer, putting a hand upon her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Michael put a hand on her other shoulder. "I am very sorry, Adela," he nearly choked. "The Captain truly meant to keep his word to you and the Grey Warden. There were to be no repercussions to the Alienage for what happened. But, Arl Howe…"

"Is a snake and murderer!" Roland hissed, his face reddening in anger.

Michael agreed with a nod, "I agree with you there, Ser Knight," He frowned, extending a hand first to Roland and then Alistair. "I apologize. I am Sergeant Michael Kylon, what passes for the law in this part of Denerim." He gave Niall a slight bow of his head.

The two warriors shook his hand in turn, Niall returning the bow. Michael continued, turning his attention back to Adela. "I have had no news of your father or cousins," he said, flinching as the tears rolled down the young elf's face. "Maker, if we could have prevented the purge, Adela, we would have."

Swallowing thickly, unable to find her voice, Adela's head fell forward, tears dripping from her eyes, plopping to the ground. Niall stood directly behind her, his hand resting lightly on her back. The mage knew not what had been said, but seeing Adela so distressed unsettled him. Alistair and Roland both shook their heads, Alistair mouthing 'later' to the confused mage.

Something about Michael's posture told the elf that there was something more he was not telling her. Taking a breath, her head still bowed, she whispered, "What else, Michael?"

Closing his brown eyes, the sergeant continued, "After the purge, many of the bodies were just…left. The elves were not allowed to leave to bury their dead; no one would send anyone in to take care of the situation. A plague seems to be ravaging the Alienage, yet still the Arl will not allow healers to go in and help out." He shook his head angrily. "I never thought I would say this aloud, but someone needs to put a very sharp pointy end into that man's heart!"

Adela was startled by the man's vehemence. She had known Michael since she was a child; he had always been a rather gentle man, just and honest to a fault. Which was probably one reason why he was still only a rank of sergeant and banished to guard the market district. He had always proven a friend to the elves in the Alienage. She looked into his eyes and saw the pain there. Oh, she had forgotten that he had been courting Naomi. And would have no word on his beloved's state.

She felt ill, and found she could no longer stand under her own power. She would have fallen had Alistair's grip not been so tight upon her. Her family…her home…they were in peril because of _her_! If she had just accepted her fate…just not fought Vaughan…perhaps then the others would have been able to return home - all of them - and the Alienage would remain safe. A groan escaped her lips and she bowed, her knees giving out completely as she twisted out of Alistair's grasp and to the ground, kneeling and purging her stomach of its contents. Michael's eyes closed in sympathy while Alistair bent to hold onto the elf as she continued to be sick upon the dirt ground.

Roland, his face stricken, turned back to the sergeant. "Is there anyway we can get in?"

Michael shook his head, turning to face the knight. "I am afraid not. Not even the city guard is allowed in. _I'm _not allowed in, and it's _my _beat!" His frustration rolled off him in waves, and he threw his hands in the air in further emphasis of his dismay at the situation.

Adela seemed to have recovered herself, although her ears felt hot and had a terrible ringing, and she seemed to have tunnel vision, saw sparkles before her eyes, the edges of her vision dark. With a heavy sigh, she allowed Alistair to pull her up. Niall placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, allowing the tiniest tendril of healing magic to flow through the contact. It helped some with her vision, but the ringing in her ears was relentless.

Wiping her eyes, trying to firm herself, she straightened somewhat, still very grateful for Alistair's continued hold on her. "Michael," her throat burned, her voice was hoarse. The sergeant flinched at the sound. "Thank you for watching over the situation," she raised her eyes, now red, to him. "I know how important the people here are to you, and I appreciate that you continue to do your duty, regardless of those who wield the power in this city."

Michael frowned. "I wish I could do more, Elfling," he smirked, using the nickname he had given her so very long ago. He was rewarded by the small smile Adela gave him.

"It would not do for you to get into trouble, Michael," she continued. "Just keep watch. And keep yourself safe."

He smiled. "I will." He promised, and then, with a bow, turned and left the group.

The small group stood in a huddle, waiting at their center - the elf - was able to get a grip on her emotions and body once again. Her head was still bowed, and Alistair kept his arm around her, concerned to release her. Her voice trembling, her bottom lip wavering, Adela indicated that they should continue their search for Brother Genetivi so that they could leave the city and get back to camp. _Where I can just hide away_, she thought as they turned.

Niall asked a nearby shopkeep where the Brother's home was, and they were pleased that it was not far from their current position. With a sharp nod, the elf quietly turned to the home, followed equally quietly by her companions.

DA:O

As expected, Brother Genetivi was not present at his home. His assistant, Weylon, seemed ignorant of his whereabouts save that the last he had heard was that the good Brother had gone to Lake Calenhad, to the inn there. Wearily, Adela thanked the young man, and the group left the home and Denerim and returned to camp.

DA:O

The camp had been set up by the Sten and Zevran upon their return. Leliana had volunteered to hunt, and surprisingly Morrigan, in wolf's form, went with her. Alistair felt it prudent to divest the elven assassin of his weapons while in camp and Adela, too tired and heart worn to argue, nodded a halfhearted agreement. Believing herself unobserved, the elf turned and walked a ways into the woods, away from the others, seeking out a refuge to vent her sorrow in.

The camp site was near a small pond, its pine nettle strewn banking offering comfort. Choking back a sob, the elf lowered herself down, bringing her knees under her chin. She wrapped her arms around her knees, bent down her head, and sobbed uncontrollably into the hollow of her arms, her tears hot as they fell, burning coldly upon the flesh of her arms.

She did not hear Roland's approach, and only barely registered as he knelt beside her, wrapping his strong arms about her. Gulping air, she raised her head, barely noticing that he had removed his armor and knelt beside her clad in trousers and a linen shirt, a heavy cloak about his shoulders. The knight pulled her against him, wrapping the cloak about her slight body, and she clutched at the fabric of his tunic, crying out her sorrow. His arms tightened about her and he bowed his head, his lips resting upon the crown of her blond head as she sobbed out her strength.

He continued stroking her hair, making soft shushing sounds and gently rocking her. She choked slightly, whispering how it was all her fault, how she should have just submitted and not fought against him. The knight frowned; he was not aware of what had happened to Adela prior to her becoming a grey warden, but he did not like the sound of what she was saying. When he tried to get her to talk about it, she vehemently shook her head, refusing to answer. He nodded.

"Its okay, Adela," he whispered, kissing the top of her head, a hand running gently over her jaw and up to brush tears aside. "It is not your fault." She shook her head again, lifting her tear stained face.

"Yes it is, Roland," she whispered, her voice hoarse, broken, tears rushing down her cheeks in rivulets. "All I had to do was remember that I was an elf in a human city, and everything would be fine now. But, I didn't," she balled a tiny fist, punching down on her thigh. "I let my friendships and status overrule the one fact that regardless of who I know, what I can do, and who I actually am, I will always be an elf!" she spat that last as though a curse.

Placing his hands firmly on her shoulders, Roland gave her a gentle shake. "Never am I to hear you say such things again, Adela," he scolded, firmly yet with gentle undertones. "You are more than just an elf," he pulled her to him, resting his head on her head. His hands now brushed down her back. "No one is just what their race is. And you have proven to be more than most nobles prove to be."

She scoffed at that, whimpering slightly, but her sobs had subsided. "And yet my people still suffer and there is nothing I can do about it!"

Sighing, he pulled her back, gazing intently into her eyes. "Perhaps not at this time," he agreed sadly, "but we will find the chance to make things right." He bent down, kissing her lightly on her trembling lips. Pulling back just slightly, his green eyes full of the affection he felt for her, he said, "This I swear to you, Adela Tabris. We will find a way to make it right."

Blinking rapidly, clearing the tears from her eyes, Adela bit her lower lip. Unable to find her voice again, she merely nodded. Roland smiled at her and bent down again to kiss her gently. He felt her tremble somewhat in his arms, and he moved to pull away, but stopped as he felt her lips respond to his own. Smiling, he tightened his embrace, pulling her closer, kissing her with more passion than his first. He felt her tiny hands on his chest push against him, and, with a nod, pulled back.

Pressing his forehead to hers, he said, "I apologize for being so forward, Adela."

She nodded against his forehead, still whispering. "It's alright, Roland," she lifted her eyes. "I…I just am not…"

"It's okay," he said, placing a finger to her lips. He had been too forward in kissing her, and he did not feel it right for her to have to explain why she broke it off. "I want you to know, however, that I care very much for you," her eyes widened slightly at that, blinking rapidly. "And that I would never do anything to hurt you. I will only go as far as you wish me to." He smiled. "And it is my hope that perhaps you will allow me to court you properly."

Befuddled, she stammered, her face, once so pale with her concern, now flushed pink. "I…I am unsure what to say here, Roland," she frowned.

Smiling, he rose, extending his hand to her, and helping her from the ground. "Then say nothing, Adela." He prompted, brushing a tender hand along her smooth cheek. "We are just getting to know one another. I just wanted to make my feelings known to you."

Still biting her lip, she nodded. "Thank you, Roland," she raised her eyes, smiling up at him. "I am flattered."

Chuckling, Roland extended his arm to her, smiling as she placed a small hand in the crook of his arm. "That's more than I had expected." He paused, staring down into her face. "And I mean it. We will find the means to help your people."

Blushing deeply, Adela bowed her head with a nod. "We have a Blight to stop first," she replied, her voice stronger, more resolute than before. Roland smiled at that.

Together, the pair returned to the camp, where Adela retired for the evening.

DA:O

Alistair was concerned about Adela. She had disappeared almost as soon as they had returned to camp. He did not like her habit of going off into the surrounding area. He knew that normally she looked for wood or rock or items so that she could continue her work, yet it still bothered him that as thoughtful as she was in almost everything else, she had this one habit he considered rather thoughtless.

So, he left the camp, heading toward the pond, hoping to find her there.

What he found was not what he had hoped to.

He first spotted Roland, kneeling upon the ground, holding something in his arms. As he neared, he noticed that it was Adela he embraced. No, not just embraced, but was holding tenderly in his arms, kissing her. He watched as a small hand snaked up to rest upon Roland's shoulder, and it seemed to the young Warden that the elf was returning the knight's kiss. His teeth clenched and he shut his eyes against the sight. Turning abruptly, the young man hurriedly returned to camp, seeking out the solace of his tent.

DA:O

_He was there, hiding in the darkness, only his eyes gleaming from the shadows. She swept by him, a small dagger in her hand, her dress covered in blood, blood in her hair, blood running down her thighs…_

_She gasped at a sound. Spinning, she froze, scared as a tiny woodland creature caught by the eyes of a great predator. And she was. He stepped from the shadows, blood pouring form the wound in his chest, blood encrusted along the front of his open trousers._

"_So, my dearest," he purred, reaching for her, his green eyes gleaming, "we shall be together always."_

_She screamed, jabbing out with her small blade, which shrunk in size as it neared the man. A pin, it stuck into his arm. His eyes upon the tiny needle, a slow, sly smirk crossed his handsome features. "Ah, a bee with a stinger," he crooned, his hands closing over her shoulders, pulling her towards him. "No, my dearest. You need to start acting like the elven wench you are," his arms were iron as they embraced her, pulling her body against his. "Not some pointy eared human woman."_

_She felt a jab to her shoulder, warm blood flowing from the wound. His lips covered hers, and she screamed against him, pushing her hands against his body. His body jerked, his eyes widened. She was pulled away from behind as the tip of a long sword stuck out from his chest. A voice…no, two voices, sought to calm her, telling her it was alright._

_One voice became stronger, more insistent. Telling her to wake up! With a started gasp, her scream dying in her throat, she jolted upwards, fully awake…_

To find Alistair holding her, his eyes opened and wide with concern.

"Alistair?" she gasped, the pain in her shoulder real. A cold suddenly flashed through her and she screamed again. Alistair pulled her closer, watching as her blue eyes rolled up, revealing only the whites. He cried out for Niall as Adela's jaw clenched with a loud click, her jaw locking itself. Niall and Roland both rushed to the tent, the mage pushing himself in, pulling the elf from the young man's grip. Dumbfounded, they watched as the elf's body convulsed, and the mage began casting. It was then that Alistair noticed the blood on his hands.

"Niall," he barked out, fear giving volume to his voice. "She's been stabbed."

Frowning, the mage pulled her over, examining the deep puncture wound in her shoulder. "She's been poisoned," he rasped out. Roland spun about, shouting for the Antivan assassin.

Sleepy, his hair mussed, Zevran emerged from the tent that had been acquired for his use. He could not even ask what was wrong when a large, heavy fist connected with his face, dropping the slender elf to the ground.

Looming over the prone elf, Roland ordered the Sten to tie the elf up. Alistair, whom Niall had exiled from the tent, tossed the Qunari a length of rope, fully in agreement.

Leliana had gone to the tent to offer what assistance she could to the mage. Morrigan was pulling her backpack out, searching out various poultices and potions, hurrying along to assist as well.

Zevran allowed the big warrior to tie him up, flinching slightly as the Sten lifted him to a seated position against a rock. Alistair, having seen Adela's injury, surged toward the helpless male, scowling threateningly at him. Trying to maintain a calm front, Zevran met that glare steadily.

"What did you do to her?" the young Warden demanded, stepping forward. He barely took note of Roland's presence, so intent upon the elf lying on the ground.

"Her?" Zevran asked, his eyes darting toward Adela's tent. "My very large and angry friend, I have done nothing to the fair Warden."

"Really?" Roland stepped forward now, his concern for Adela growing. All he wanted to do right now was hold Adela, but since he could not, a fair second would be to hit the elf before him again.

"I promise this to you all," Zevran replied calmly, slowly, "I would never harm the other Warden," he spoke with sincere seriousness, trying to convey the truth of his words. "She spared my life. What poor repayment would trying to take hers be?"

Morrigan passed by the group, frowning at them. "He speaks the truth, you foolish, overly possessive _men_!" she spat, continuing on her way. "I had placed a glyph upon his tent. Had he tried to leave it at the time of Adela's attack, the resounding shock wave would have injured him and alerted the rest of the camp." With those words, the witch bent down and entered the tent to assist in Adela's treatment.

Both Alistair and Roland glared at the witch's retreating back. So, if not the elven assassin, who, then tried to kill Adela? They looked at one another, frowning. The smooth accent of Antiva penetrated their minds.

"Ah, and so since the lovely witch has declared me innocent," he stated, shrugging his shoulders, "Could perhaps one of you kindly untie me?" He fluttered his eyelashes slightly. "Well, that is, unless of course either of you has need for a helplessly tied up handsome elf such as myself?"

Glaring down at the elf, Roland turned away, taking a stance outside of Adela's tent. Alistair frowned over at the knight, and then bent down to release the Antivan. "Watch him," the warden ordered of the Sten, and took a seat nearby the elven warden's tent.

DA:O

"I wish Wynne was here," Niall muttered as he poured more healing magic into the small elf. "I have little knowledge of poisons." He admitted this as Morrigan bent over to filter a healing potion through Adela's clenched teeth.

They had been unable to unclench the elf's jaws, and it would soon prove a problem. She had been having dry heaves, but if she were to vomit, there would be no way for her to expel the waste. Her body taking the poison back into itself would only serve to harm her further.

Leliana, while no expert on poisons, had offered that the wound obviously was not meant to be fatal, that it seemed a large needle had been used. Had no one been alerted to the attack, had Adela not screamed out from her nightmare, she could very well have drowned in her own vomit. The mage and witch looked at one another, frowning at the thought.

The bard was correct; the wound was not deadly. The amount of blood was due mainly to the length of time the wound had been allowed to bleed, but in no way could have proven fatal. The mage closed his eyes.

"Wouldn't the assassin have knowledge on poisons?" he asked, glancing at the two women beside him. The bard nodded, and then scampered out of the enclosure to fetch the other elf.

Niall heard Roland briefly argue with Leliana about allowing Zevran to enter the tent. The bard explained that he may have knowledge of poisons that the rest of them didn't, and that every moment they wasted arguing could further endanger Adela. The knight ceased his arguments, and the elven man and Orlesian bard entered. With a quick look, the bard assessed she was no longer needed, and quickly exited.

The two mages advised the elf of the symptoms. After noticing the pallor of Adela's skin, he frowned. "It sounds rather like a combination of Concentrated Deathroot and the toxin from an ice spider." He placed a hand on the other elf's forehead, noting the clamminess and chill of her skin. "She's freezing," he remarked, pulling the blankets up over the girl's shuddering form. "The Deathroot would be what is paralyzing her, making her jaw clench shut. It is the toxin that is making her ill, stealing the warmth from her. The combination of both would make it difficult to discern cause of death as both would leave the system fairly quickly. The poison itself is not deadly, however, it is the body's reaction to it that is." He was frowning. "All I can suggest is what you have been doing - continue pouring healing magic into her, revitalization as well. I would cease with the potions until she can swallow properly," this last was directed to Morrigan. "She could well drown on the potions as well as her own vomit."

"There's nothing else to be done, then?" Niall asked, staring down at the helpless woman, tucking her blankets tighter about her shivering form.

"No," Zevran frowned. "She will need someone in here with her to keep her warm," he smiled, "I offer my services for such."

Both mages scowled at the assassin. "'Tis not a wise idea," Morrigan purred, gathering her supplies and setting the pack in a corner for future use. "to allow the assassin to remain herein." She moved toward the tent's flap. "I shall fetch Alistair and it shall be he that remains with her. They are the closest of everyone here, and I doubt Adela would be overly embarrassed to have him in here with her." With those words, the witch left.

Niall turned back to his patient, sending more healing magic into her body. Already her skin color was returning, and he noticed that her muscles were relaxing. Zevran told him that perhaps in another hour or so much of the poison should be bled from her system, and then their main concern would be keeping her warm.

DA:O

Morrigan stepped from the tent, noticing that both Roland and Alistair were standing quite near the tent. _Men_, she thought, rolling her eyes. Adela would be appalled - if she realized the buffoonery these two were perpetrating now. Still…she needed one of these buffoons. "Alistair," she turned her eyes toward the other Warden. "Niall will need your assistance within," she swept a graceful hand toward the tent.

With a nod, the young man went into the tent. Roland frowned. "Why does he need his help?" he asked suspiciously.

A black brow, graceful and slender, arched upwards. _Oh what fun_, she thought. _Jealousy_. "'Tis now a matter of keeping her warm," she explained, taking silent delight in the emotions that crossed the man's handsome face: confusion, jealousy, anger…"'Twas decided that since she has known Alistair the longest, she would be less inclined to awkwardness should it be him that spends the eve with her."

With those words, fully aware of their affect upon the knight, the witch swept away to her own camp slightly off from the rest, completely ignoring the glare the knight watched her with.

DA:O

"Wait," Alistair held up a hand, trying very hard to comprehend what both men had just asked of him. "You want me to lay down with Adela to keep her warm?"

They both nodded, Niall rubbing her hands vigorously between his own. Zevran was warming her feet in the same manner. "Hafter should be in here, too," Niall added, recalling how big the dog was. "Both of you lay on each side and that should keep her warm enough. She's unnaturally cold, and if not looked after she could freeze."

Zevran nodded. "I have offered my services," he explained, smiling at the human male, "But, alas, Niall and our lovely Witch both thought that the poor girl too shy to allow such intimate contact with someone she's only just met." He tutted at the unconscious girl. "So, they decided you as the best option."

His brows shot up. "Best option?" he repeated, glancing down at Adela's unconscious form.

Zevran let out a pleasant peel of laughter. "Why, yes, my big handsome man!" His eyes narrowed somewhat. "Do not think to try and fool Zevran! I have seen the looks you give this lovely one," he tucked her feet under the blankets and then reached put a hand upon Adela's forehead. "Surely spending the night by her side, offering your…" he sidled closer to the man, "considerable warmth for the eve would be most pleasant, no?"

Alistair flushed at that.

"You sleep on one side, the great war dog on the other. Between the two of you, well, she should be quite warm and contented." Zevran gave an exaggerated frown. "Such a pity the girl will be unconscious."

Niall frowned at the elf. "Stop teasing him, Zevran," he admonished as he sent another tendril of magic through the girl. He was pleased to see that her jaw had finally relaxed. Bending down, he found he could open her mouth. "Good," he remarked, looking at the other two. "The Deathroot seems to have weakened considerably. Now, Alistair," he turned his attention to the warden. "I know that it seems…strange to ask you to actually lay beside her, but truly, this is the only way we can think of to keep her warm. The chills that have come over her are poison induced, and the only cure is for it to wear off. However, since we are at the end of autumn, the nights are cold as well."

"So merely putting a few more blankets on her won't work?" Alistair asked, quite nervous about what they were proposing.

Niall shook his head. "Not and be able to be secure in the knowledge that they remain. With you and Hafter working as her warmth, you can be certain she does not get too warm or not warm enough."

"You need someone to watch over her as well," he stated, nodding; now understanding.

"Yes."

Nodding his head, the blond warden agreed. He was nervous, and more than a little uncomfortable about it. But, if it would help Adela he would do so. Hafter padded his way into the tent, settling down beside the elven Warden.

Niall and Zevran left the tent, Niall making certain that Alistair was aware of the pack full of healing potions in case Adela needed them.

So, he settled next to the girl, rolling her onto her side and pulling her body flush with his. The massive warhound stretched out longer than the girl was. The warden was dismayed at just how cold her body felt, and pulled the blankets up over the three of them. He wrapped his arms about her slight body, tucking her head under his chin, and pulling her closer. He listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing. He closed his eyes. He admitted to himself that he enjoyed the feel of holding her as she slept, although he did not like the circumstances for it. Pushing aside the image of Roland kissing her, Alistair bent his head and kissed the top of her head, and then brought his lips to an ear and kissed her again. With a sigh, he relaxed, and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.


	23. Chapter 23

_This is a playful, fluffy chapter. _

_As always, thank you all for the reviews: mutive, Gaspode, Arsinoe de Blassenville, zevgirl, mutive. And thanks to everyone who has been alerting and favoriting this as well. You have no idea how much this means! Please review and crit. They're great fun to read! I've just got to 100 reviews! Thank you so much! _

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 23_

Alistair awoke during the night with a start to find that Adela had moved closer to him, her body conformed closely to his. Her long blond hair curled about her head and face like a golden halo, her pink lips parted just slightly. One slender arm was tucked under her, her tiny hand cupping her chin. Her other arm was draped across her waist. He gasped a bit, realizing that her shapely bottom was pressed very snuggly against…a certain other part of his body and that part was responding quite well to the close contact of the elven woman. He moved himself a bit away from the elf, breathing slowly, thinking of anything other than the lovely woman lying next to him. That had not happened before. His body relaxed after a time and he eased closer to her again.

He was a bit confused by that. His body had never…betrayed him so obviously before.

He thought he could contribute some of that to the elven assassin's rather suggestive comments, but he didn't think that was it. He glanced down at her now peaceful face, brushing a hand across her forehead, which was now warm.

It was Roland, he realized. Seeing the Highever knight kissing Adela in a more than friendly manner had caused Alistair to contemplate his own feelings for the elven Warden. He had always been attracted to her; cared deeply for her; even loved her. But, this manner of lying next to her was far more intimate than the time in the hay loft. At that time, they just lay next to each other, talking until they fell asleep, Adela tucked next to him. Here, his purpose was to keep her warm, which meant covering as much of her body with his own. And he had discovered his body - and certain parts thereof - rather liked the close proximity. The feel of her warmth, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, so very close…

No, stop thinking that way. Relax. Think of the Revered Mother during morning sermon.

That worked.

He shook his head. This was getting far too complicated. If she and Roland were developing a relationship he had one of two choices: step aside and let them be; or make his own feelings known and fight for her.

The problem was, off the battlefield, and fighting for something he wanted was not something the young ex-Templar-to-be had any experience in. How did one fight for the woman he loved?

His breath tightened at that thought, and he found himself tugging Adela's sleeping form closer to him. Okay, so first thing was not to be embarrassed or concerned about close proximity and certain bodily reactions to that. If Roland has a problem with it, Alistair will deal with it.

Secondly, tell Adela how he feels.

Yeah, right. Been there already.

He shook his head. No, he hadn't. Adela had stumbled upon him in the Fade, his dream family surrounding him, complete with father, brother, mentor, sister, various nieces and nephews. And she had told him that she had not loved him in that manner. But that had been during a time when she was confused about her feelings for _someone _else (he refused to think of the man in _that _context). He made self-deprecating jokes, never was truly serious, always playful and ready to just back off. So, he had stepped back, waiting for her. And, in so doing, gave Roland plenty of room to swoop in (see? Swooping is bad!) and try to claim her.

Oh, that's a bad thought. Claim her like she was some prize. A rather Vaughan thing to think, eh? Adela would smack him if she knew he thought of her in that manner. So, he wouldn't.

Sighing heavily, the young man reached across and scratched his fingers through Hafter's thick, rough fur. The warhound snorted contentedly in his sleep, stretching out, but offered nothing by way of advice to the young man. Damn dog just kept sleeping.

What exactly had Roland done to get Adela's attention? Exactly what Alistair had been doing - teasing her, talking with her, being a friend…okay, perhaps Roland flirted much better than he did, but he had also revealed that he had more experience with the opposite sex. And Adela hadn't seemed particularly thrilled with that bit of information, no matter how much the knight denied it.

So, what did the knight do? Was it the way he looked at her, all noble-like, honorable, and yet still making it known that he admired her? Or was it simply that he was like the perfect knight, all red haired and green eyes, no facial stubble - ever. Or how he had called her 'Lady'…

Over thinking things, he admonished himself. He could not be like Roland, could only be Alistair. And Adela liked _Alistair_. He just needed her to like him more than she liked Roland.

A lot more.

Advice was what he needed. From whom?

Certainly not Zevran. The elf made him exceptionally uneasy, and not just because he had tried to kill Adela and was very new to the group. The way that man watched everyone - men and women - was as though he was trying to picture them without any clothes on. No, the lascivious elf was not one to go to, even if they knew one another better.

Niall was also out. The mage seemed as shy as Alistair himself, despite rumors about mage promiscuity. And, if those rumors were true, it was more than likely his advice would be more off the wall than anything Zevran would say.

Morrigan was a definite no. She would only taunt him and make him feel very stupid. And the Sten would only glare at him for asking.

Wynne was at Redcliffe and, as much as he loved the old gal, he felt she'd more than likely give him some kind of lecture about putting duty first before any personal feelings, wants and desires he may have.

Roland - yeah, go up to the man who was his rival and ask 'So, Roland, what exactly did you do to get Adela to be alone with you by the waterside and kiss you? Because, you know, I'd like to give it a try.' He snorted at that thought, and then froze as Adela shifted in his arms, and then turned over, facing Alistair. Her hand retucked under her chin, and her other arm was flung across Alistair's waist, her small hand twitching just slightly. He remained still until she settled down and resumed her steady breathing, once again deep in sleep. Of course, he thought with a slight mischievous grin, _Roland _wasn't the one laying here now with the woman who claimed his affections, now, was he?

Sure, Alistair was lying with the woman he loved, but as a friend, not a lover. Oh, he really needed help…

Leliana. Sweet, wonderful, completely bonkers Leliana. But, he knew that she would help him. Or give him some advice. Or at least tell him when he did something very stupid. Or even tell him he did not stand a chance against Roland's knightly nobility and worldliness.

Okay, he decided. He would ask Leliana's advice. And hope and pray that it was the right advice.

Now his next dilemma was now that Adela seemed to have recovered, should he remain or go back to his own tent? Glancing down at her, he decided to stay. It shouldn't matter what others thought or said; and he wasn't going to mind what Roland thought. He had known Adela far longer than any of them, and they had always been comfortable with each other's presence. Besides, it had been their idea he spend the night here. They didn't need to know that she was better.

Giving her a quick, chaste kiss on the forehead, Alistair snuggled down further, closed his eyes, and promptly fell back to sleep, Adela's warm breath teasing across his neck.

DA:O

_Damn the elf for starting out of a deep sleep_! Had she lain just a bit longer, silent, the poison would have had longer to work before the discovery, and the damned knife-eared wench would be dead!

The shadowy figure raced, swerving between the trees, gaining distance swiftly from the companions' campsite. No one had thought to leave the campsite to search out the elf's assailant, but the figure was not taking any chances. Leaping agilely, the slender, elf-like form, cloaked in darkness, made swift progress through the tree limbs, leaping easily from one tree to the next, traveling a great distance above the ground before alighting gracefully once more to the forest floor.

Any tracks left would be difficult to discern through the varied path upon ground, tree, and the brook that crisscrossed the forest floor.

It would be daylight before the figure would pause, seeking shelter and rest.

DA:O

The first thing she noticed was how very warm she was. Dressed in her sleeping tunic, which had somehow gotten twisted up along her legs, covered with more than one blanket, she felt closed in, almost claustrophobic. That was when she noticed that she was walled in on both sides by two very massive, slow breathing masses. She opened her eyes to find herself staring into a strong, muscled neck. Alistair's neck. Confused, she reached out with a hand behind her, encountering the rough bristle of Hafter's fur. _Okay_, she thought, moving her hand back, noticing that her other arm was wrapped about the human Warden's waist. Confused, she lifted her face.

Alistair was sleeping, although if the facial twitches were anything to go by, she suspected he would awaken fairly soon. Tipping her head back slightly, she watched as his lips twitched slightly, a grimace forming at his brow, creasing it. She never liked it when worry would line his face. As he relaxed, so, too, did the lines, smoothing out, revealing a boyish face. She smiled as she brought a hand up to brush along his cheek, up to his forehead, and back down to his chin. She always liked his face - it was very expressive, extremely handsome, but approachable. Roland's fine features made him almost too handsome, almost as though his features had been carved from marble so perfect were they. But Alistair's face, with it's sun touched tan, that almost silly scruffy patch (he seemed to like it) under his lower lip, fine smile lines around his mouth and squint marks at his eyes…She liked his face. Handsome, pleasant, friendly.

She frowned to herself for comparing the two men. That was not fair. The previous evening came back and she flushed with embarrassment at the remembrance of Roland kissing her. While it had been a rather nice kiss, it did not stir in her the feelings she thought that being kissed by such a handsome and honorable man would be. Of course, last night - yesterday - had not been the best of times to explore that kind of a relationship anyway.

Sighing, she started to snuggle closer to Alistair, but then stopped herself. She frowned, looking back up into his face. _Why was he here_? She could not remember anything after retiring last night. Well, anything other than that horrid nightmare. She shivered slightly, moving to snuggle closer to Alistair, who merely stirred a bit, making a slight whining noise in his nose. She grinned at that, using her friend as an anchor - no, a wave to push the nightmare aside. Vaughan can no longer harm her. Not in the physical, nor in her mind. She has already seen so much, done more, braved horrors she had never even heard of before. One little, cruel nobleman would not have his hold upon her any longer.

Not when she is surrounded with friends such as Alistair. Not when she is the Commander of the Grey in Fereldan (of all two of the wardens therein). Not when so much absolutely does depend upon her and these that have chosen to follow her, whatever their reasons. She is calm now, the nightmare merely a reflection of the past. Something that cannot harm her any longer as it was done and she has faced it, and in many ways is stronger for it.

She purposefully ignored the wrenching feeling in her stomach.

She did not allow her mind to wander to Shianni's broken and bruised form. Or Nelaros' still, bloodied body.

There had been prices to pay, horrible, terrible prices. Prices she would rather not have had paid. Prices she felt would also have been too high.

But, even so, if not for that unhappy episode, she would not be here now. And, as much as the thought surprises her, where she is now - wrapped in her dearest friend's arms, surrounded by people who in one way or another actually believe in her and their cause - is where she actually wants to be. Well, that and with a chunk of wood or ceramic in hand, a pottery wheel or easel nearby.

Hafter stretches next to her, pushing her further against Alistair's strong chest with an arch of his back. The dog whines slightly, then blinks open his soft brown eyes. Whimpering, he rises, then noses the tent flap open, letting in a bright sliver of sunshine. With a happy grunt to his mistress, the warhound leaves the tent for his morning ablutions.

Her back is cooler without the furnace of her dog there. But Alistair, a furnace all unto himself, keeps her warm still. But, it is morning, and she still does not know why he and Hafter (who usually prefers sleeping outside her tent) were both in here with her.

"Alistair?" She whispers, pulling back, nudging his chest slightly. He grunts a bit in his sleep. She grins, pushing just a bit harder.

He starts to whine, "Ahhh…ten more minutes," he sleepily begs. "Have someone else take morning duty for Morning Prayers."

Not even bothering to stifle a giggle, the elven woman placed both hands on his chest and gave him a good shake. Startled, he gasped, his eyes flying open, both hands reaching down to firmly grip Adela's hands, stilling her.

"Alistair," she said in a slightly louder voice, pulling on her arms. The human looked down first into Adela's face, and then at her captured hands. Grinning sheepishly, he eased his grip, but still held her hands in his.

"Adela," he breathed, seemingly relieved. He was having the strangest dreams about standing guard during the revered mother's morning sermons - all while in his small clothes. "How are you feeling?" His eyes looked upon her with concern.

She frowned, "Feeling?" She asked, "I feel fine. Why?"

His brows shot up. "Don't you remember?" he asked, his voice filled with concern but tinged with relief. "You were…attacked last night. And poisoned. We almost lost you."

She blinked, pulling her hands free and pushing herself into a seated position. She felt fine. "I don't remember," she admitted, "and I feel fine," she repeated as Alistair rose into a seated position beside her. "So, is that why both you and Hafter were here?"

Her friend nodded. "The poison used had dropped your body temperature severely. Niall suggested that Hafter and I…ah, sleep next to you to help keep you warm." He glanced down at her, realizing for the first time that all she wore was her sleeping tunic which, while usually covered her to her knees when she stood, was now pushed up to her thighs. He blushed slightly, and pulled the blanket to cover her legs. She watched the movement, trying to digest what Alistair had told her.

How could she have no memory of that? "So, I was attacked and poisoned," she repeated. "What happened to my assailant?"

Alistair shook his head, rubbing his hand over his hair. "Got away. We would never have known you were attacked had you not screamed out." He frowned. "But you don't recall the attack?"

"No," she said firmly, "I had a nightmare, and I recall crying out from that. And, I vaguely recall your coming in here, calling my name," she shrugged. "After that, nothing."

Alistair reached over and placed a hand on her forehead. She felt as warm as she ever did. Her eyes were bright and clear, her speech focused and sure. Although he had very limited knowledge of poisons, he had expected her to be quite ill this morning. That she wasn't surprised him.

"Alistair," she called to him, watching his face closely. "I can tell you that I am exceedingly starved and would love some breakfast." She waggled her eyebrows at him, grinning.

Sighing, he nodded. "Me too, actually." He pushed himself up and toward the tent flap. "We'll need to have a closer watch at night from now on," he replied as he paused at the exit, watching his friend. "How someone could get into your tent, without your noticing, stab you, and then get away without any of us noticing is really very worrying."

Nodding her agreement, she reached over to her pack for a fresh tunic and breeches. "I agree," she frowned as she paused, "I don't like the idea of someone out there who can get past you, the Sten and Leliana."

Her eyes rose to meet his. She saw the same concern there as well. With a nod, Alistair left her tent, leaving her to dress.

DA:O

Everyone was surprised when Adela emerged from her tent, freshly dressed, her hair loose and hanging tangle free about her shoulders, and eyes shining. Zevran gave Alistair a suggestive grin, which the tall Warden ignored magnificently. Niall immediately went over to her and, after several minutes spent sending healing magic into her, declared the poison gone and the elven Warden fit. He did pause several times as his magic detected the taint that flowed through all Grey Wardens' blood, but it was an anomaly he had detected before and so bypassed it.

Zevran was perhaps the most surprised, advising that the combination of toxins used in the poison should have kept her down for at least a day after the Deathroot had cleared from her system. The two Wardens exchanged looks. Adela's wondered if the joining had anything to do with her quick recovery; Alistair's face mirrored the same question.

Roland, who had been by the water cleaning up, spotted Adela and rushed to her, scooping her up and hugging her tightly, kissing her lightly as he did so. Surprised, Adela allowed the hug and kiss before pushing away, declaring that she was fine, starved and wanting a bath. Grinning down at her, the knight released her, sitting next to her as she settled down to spoon out some of the porridge Morrigan had prepared. The elf looked over at Alistair, and patted the seat beside her on the log. Smiling, he picked up a bowl, scooped out some food, and planted himself next to her, happily ignoring the look the redhead knight was giving him.

As they ate, Adela thanked Zevran for his assistance, to which the elven assassin merely bowed, hand to chest, stating it had been his privilege. No one mentioned to her that Roland had attacked the elf.

The group had all settled around the fire, eating, and discussing the change in guard duty at night. Instead of one on duty, there now would be two, and the two needed to patrol the perimeter every fifteen minutes and shifts would be three hours instead of four. The Sten approved resoundingly (well for him) with a firm nod and "Agreed!".

The new routine settled, the companions rose to break down camp and head to Lake Calenhad. Roland had insisted upon breaking Adela's tent down, but she refused, saying that she was fine and he had his own things to take care of. The knight frowned at her decision, but did not argue with her about it, turning to take down his own tent.

DA:O

The journey back to Lake Calenhad proved uneventful, much to the delight of Adela. They had begun their new watch rotation and she thought that it would work well. The elven Warden did not believe that the loss of one hour of sleep should not be a detriment to the companions.

As they approached the lake, the Sten moved closer to Adela. Pointing to where an older man was bent on knees, he spoke. "That is where my brethren and I encountered the darkspawn."

Adela followed his arm and nodded. Gesturing for the others to wait, she led the Sten to the area, to where the man seemed to be digging at the blackened earth.

"You do realize," the elf said as she neared the man, "that the earth here has been tainted," he looked up at her. "The land should be burned, not toiled with bare hand."

Blanching, the man scrambled to his feet, hastily wiping his hands upon his stained and patched tunic. "Oh! Ah…I didn't know," he stammered, the look of fear coming over him. "I, ah, should probably mention that to someone."

Nodding, Adela continued. "You wouldn't have happened to come across a rather large sword?" The man blinked owlishly to her and then back stepped when he turned his eyes upon the white haired, purple eyed giant beside her. A growl escaped the Sten's throat. "Goodman?" she said, reaching over to grasp his arm.

Shaking his head, "No, no…I ain't found nothing but bones and black dirt," he spat out. With a heavy sigh, he said, "I know, don't say it. I've been tooked."

"Tooked?" Adela repeated, frowning.

"Yeah, man sold me the looting rights, but didn't mention he had taken everything but the bones." His eyes narrowed slightly. "His name's Faryn, and he's heading to Orzammar, if you're curious." He grinned. "Wish I could see his face when he gets a gander at you," he pointed to the Sten.

"Orzammar?" Adela asked, making certain she heard correctly.

The man nodded, "Yup. They's got some outdoor market there, and Faryn has a stall." He shrugged, turning and seeming to forget about the pair, and Adela's warning, as he went back to digging into the tainted soil. Frowning, Adela turned and left, the Sten close behind her.

"When we head to Orzammar," the elf was telling the Qunari as they approached the others, "we will seek this Faryn out and get your sword."

"Thank you, Warden," the large man replied with a nod. The elf was certain she noticed a hint of gratitude in his tone.

The innkeeper at the Spoiled Princess proved less helpful than the scavenger. He had first declared that Brother Genetivi had never visited his establishment. He seemed nervous and trying hard to get Adela and the others to leave. Zevran, standing nearby, smiled warmly at the man, suggesting that perhaps he knew of the good Brother, but his memory was failing. The man's eyes widened slightly, and he turned back to the elven Warden.

"There are some here," he whispered in low tones, "that have told me to deny knowledge of this Brother or the knights that have come looking for him."

Adela's brow twitched at that. No one had mentioned the knights. "So he has been here?' she asked, keeping her own tone low while Zevran turned around nonchalantly, a cup of ale in hand, his tawny eyes scanning about the place.

"No," the innkeep said, "but the knights have. I don't know what's going on, but these others have threatened me and mine if I let on to anything." His fear was real, and he nervously gestured to the front door.

Placing a sovereign on the counter, Adela thanked him, telling him that she would ensure that his family was no longer threatened. With a jerk of her head, the elf led the others from the inn.

As they began to ascend the slope leading away from the lake, the group was attacked by several well armed and armored men. These were not simple bandits, and Adela had the impression that these were the very ones the innkeeper had mentioned. Although very skilled and well armed, the attackers fell easily. Searching the bodies (Zevran and Leliana looted what they could - much of the armor and weaponry had been damaged during their fight), Adela found a note hidden within the breastplate of one of the assailants. The paper was marked with a dragon, and a few words written in a hasty hand described Adela. Frowning, Adela told the group they would have to return to Denerim and pay Weylon a visit.

During the first day heading backwards, they ran into bandits and darkspawn. But, the bands were small and easily dispatched. Zevran chuckled, asking Adela if this was the norm for their group. Smiling, she nodded as she watched Niall tend a small wound on the elven assassin's arm, noticing the mage stayed a bit longer at the elven man's side. With a hearty laugh, Zevran declared that he was very much going to enjoy traveling with them.

DA:O

Their first night camping on their return journey to Denerim found Alistair on watch with Leliana. Of course, the Warden had arranged things so that he would be on watch, having swapped the first shift with the Sten. Of course, in doing so meant that Adela would be taking the Sten's watch with Roland. He wished he had thought of that beforehand.

For a time, the pair chatted lightly as they circled the camp's perimeter. Morrigan and Niall had also set up glyphs around the camp, set to stun, paralyze or knock down any intruders.

"So, Leliana," Alistair started, trying to make his voice sound as nonchalant as possible. "You're a woman, right?"

The red head stopped, a small twitch of her lips fighting to smile. A slender, red eyebrow rose in amusement. "Gosh, Alistair," she said, her voice soft, her accent pleasant. "I don't know." She looked down at herself, gasping in feigned astonishment. "My goodness! Alistair! You are right! I am a woman." She looked up, her blue eyes merry.

Rolling his amber eyes, the young man flushed slightly. "Oh, right, sorry."

The bard giggled at him, taking his arm and continuing their circuit around the camp. "Now, my friend, that we have established I am, indeed, a woman, what can I do for you?"

Taking a deep breath, he started over. "Okay, what if someone liked you, a great deal," he looked over at her, embarrassment clear on his face. "How would you like him to show you?"

"Ah, so you would assume only a man would want my attentions?" she teased, clearly enjoying his discomfort and not willing to let him off the hook so easily.

Groaning, he rubbed a hand across his face. "Please, Leliana," he pleaded, "I need some advice and I don't even know how to ask for it."

Taking pity, the young Orlesian suppressed her growing desire to continue teasing the poor man. "Alright, Alistair. First bit of advice," she paused, turning him to face her. "Never, ever ask a woman if she is a woman," she ticked a finger at him. "May well do irreparable damage to her ego."

Nodding, taking her sage advice, he replied. "Right. Got it. No questioning a woman about her femininity."

Smiling at him, she pulled him by the arm and they resumed their patrol. "Now, what, exactly do you need?"

He shrugged. "I'm not really sure," he admitted. "I just wanted some advice. What should I do if... if I think a woman is special and…"

Smiling at her bashful friend, the bard asked, "Why do you ask? Are you afraid things will not proceed naturally?"

Laughing, shaking his head, the warden replied, "Why would they? Especially when I do things like ask beautiful women if they're female."

Leliana paused, tilting her head to watch Alistair closely. She smiled, her eyes shining. "It adds to your charm, Alistair. You are a little awkward. It is endearing."

Sighing heavily, rubbing his hand over his hair, frowning a bit. "So I should be awkward?" He cocked his head at her, a confused look in his eyes. "But didn't you just say not to do things like that?"

Giggling, she shook her red head, "Just be yourself, Alistair. You do know how to do that, don't you?" She grinned. "I've always thought you did quite well at it."

Slumping slightly, defeated, he replied, "All right, forget I asked."

But Leliana would not abandon him in such a manner. "No, no, my dear friend," she said, tucking her hand under his arm, walking beside him amiably. "That is not what I meant." She looked up into his face. "This is about Adela, is it not?"

"Who else?"

Her smile widened. Leliana had hoped that Alistair would work up the courage to pursue the pretty little elf. As much as she liked Roland, she felt he was not quite right for her friend. She could see easily how well the two Wardens got along, and Alistair's affections for the small woman were obvious to all with eyes. Except to the woman in question herself.

"Alistair," Leliana tugged him to a halt, her eyes slightly serious. "Adela already likes you, a great deal," she smiled. "That is usually the toughest obstacle to overcome. And I tell you to be yourself because she does already like you, but also because our elven friend values honesty greatly. If you try to be like someone else," her eyes wandered toward Roland's tent, "you will only succeed in driving away." She shrugged, resuming their pace once more. "Your biggest problem really isn't so much trying to impress Adela, it's just making your own intentions to her known." She shrugged. "And for that, you just need to let go a bit of your inhibitions and just let how you feel come out."

"Huh," the warden replied with a quick shrug of his shoulders. "I had figured that part out already. I just don't know how to go about it."

"Relax," she said in a soothing voice. "You sometimes are so concerned about what you say that you get all tense and clam up. And, while that is cute and endearing, it does little by way of getting your thoughts across."

"So, let me get this straight," he replied, "Be myself - I can do that, I hope." he grinned. "And just tell her what I feel."

"Well," Leliana grinned. "I wouldn't come right out and tell her your love her, please marry me," she giggled at Alistair's crestfallen features. "You need to court her, Alistair. But do so by simply being yourself. If you feel like flirting with her, do it, no matter who is around or how silly you think you'd feel about it. Trust me," she reached over and patted his cheek. "the rewards are far greater than any teasing you will receive from the rest of us."

She laughed at the panicked look he gave her. "Oh, come now, Alistair," she chided. "You know you will be teased, and mercilessly, too. You just need to decide if she's worth it."

"You're going to tease me, too?" he asked in a little boy's voice, a slight pout crossing his face.

"Oh, Alistair," she giggled, "you have the pouting face down quite nicely." She mimicked his expression. "And, oui, of course I'm going to tease you," she declared with a flounce in her step. "What sort of friend would I be if I did not?"

Sighing, the Warden continued his circuit of the perimeter, frowning at his friend as she merrily went on ahead.

DA:O

When their shift ended, Leliana and Alistair awoke Adela and Roland for theirs. Although it meant that Roland would be sharing three entire hours, alone, with Adela, Alistair felt that his conversation with Leliana had been a good one. He even bent down to give Adela a quick kiss on her cheek, even smiling at Roland as he straightened, before retiring for the night.

Roland and Adela began their circuit of the camp, passing the starting point within the fifteen minute time frame they had earlier established. They did not speak much during the first two hours of their shift, concentrating mostly upon the surrounding area.

When the end of their second hour came and they passed within reach of Roland's tent, the knight excused himself for a moment and went to his tent. With a shrug, the elf continued her circuit, watching the surrounding woods. It was quiet, and she was glad for that.

A soft rustling sound behind her told her that Roland had exited her tent, and she turned to watch him approach her. He held something in his hands, and as he approached, she noted it was a rather large pouch.

A pleasant smile upon his fine features, the knight handed the pouch over to the elf. "I picked these up while we were in Denerim the first time through," he explained, watching as her slender hands reached out and took the pouch. "I had been waiting for a chance to give it to you. Now seemed as good a time as any."

Her blue eyes glanced up, meeting his green, a lovely smile upon her face. "You didn't have to do this, Roland," she said in a quiet voice as she worried the strings apart, and pulled open the mouth of the pouch. Taking a step closer, Roland watched as her eyes widened upon seeing the contents of the pouch.

"Roland," she breathed, pulling forth from the sack a large piece of ivory, of perfect carving quality, perfectly white. She turned the exquisite piece over, her experienced hands searching for any surface defects, her eyes taking in the perfect white of the piece.

"There are smaller pieces in there," the knight explained, smiling broadly at the delight upon Adela's face. "And I managed to find a piece of ironbark," he grinned as her face darted up at that. Ironbark?

"I've never worked Ironbark," she breathed as she dug a hand back into the pouch to search out the wood. She pulled out a dark blue piece, smoother than any other wood she had ever worked. The surface fairly shimmered. "I…I don't know what to say," she murmured, gazing at the treasures she had just been handed.

Taking another step nearer, Roland gazed down at her. "Just make something lovely," he remarked, smiling. "And if you felt like creating a masterpiece for me, well," he shrugged, "I certainly would not turn it away." He reached over and put a hand to her cheek, tracing the contours of her face with a thumb. "It is something you enjoy doing, and with all that we are facing now, every moment of joy should be taken."

Acting on impulse, the elf rose to her tip toes, and placed her hands upon his broad shoulders, setting her soft lips upon Roland's. Taking the cue, the knight wrapped his arms around the slender elf, and gently returned the kiss. Smiling, pushing away, Adela placed her treasures back into the pouch, smiling back up at the knight. Roland took her hand and the pair resumed their watch.

DA:O

Four days after they left Denerim found the group back at the doorstep of Brother Genetivi. Adela had the Sten, Niall, Zevran and Leliana waiting outside, ordering the two rogues to circle around the house, noting any other exits to the house. Adela, with Alistair, Roland, Morrigan and Hafter would enter via the front door and confront Weylon. Each nodded to the elven Warden, confirming her orders, and the five entered the house without knocking.

Weylon was walking toward the door. His expression was first one of curiosity, then quick anger. Once his eyes settled upon the intruders, it became one of mild curiosity tinged with concern.

"You return?" he asked, just the right amount of concern in his voice. Adela could hear the insincerity behind it.

"Surprised?" she asked, taking a step forward, her hands on her daggers. She allowed her anger to show, and her body language screamed it. "Now," She took a step forward, "why don't you tell us what is going on and where Brother Genetivi can be found."

Weylon's face changed from that of a mousy scrivener to a fierce mage. Shouting out, "All shall be forgiven!" he cast a blasting spell at the elven warden, smirking as she stumbled back, gasping in pain.

Roland struck out with his sword as Alistair gathered his will and drained Weylon of his mana. Cursing, the mage stumbled back, his magic taken from him, weakening him severely. He stumbled away from Roland's sword, but Morrigan's blast of ice caught him in a wintry grasp, freezing him to the spot. Alistair lunged forward, his sword leading the way, piercing flesh, cutting through bone, slicing into the heart behind rib cage.

Adela regained her balance as Weylon slumped to the floor, dead.

Frowning at the body, Adela suggested that they search the house, looking for any clues as to where the missing Brother could be found.

Roland and Morrigan search the kitchen and dining areas as Alistair and Adela search the back of the house. A sympathetic hum rose in the elf's throat as she spied the decomposing body of a young man.

"That must be the real Weylon," she commented as she pulled a blanket from a nearby bed and covered the young man.

Alistair nods sadly, reciting from the Chant:

"_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade;_

_For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light._

_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."_

Smiling, Adela placed a hand upon Alistair's arm and gave him a gentle nod. Returning the nod, the former Templar-in-training returned to searching for clues of the Brother's whereabouts.

Adela had to pick the lock on a nearby trunk. Frowning, she started pulling out various clothing, sundries and other personal items. Alistair was busy rummaging through a nearby chest of drawers. As the elf continued, she rose to her feet, having to bend far into the trunk. The young man looked over and paused. The angle the elf presented was a very nice view of her derrière, and Alistair found himself blushing profusely as he realized he was staring. He quickly averted his eyes, ducking his head down, hoping the heat that flushed his face would dissipate before his fellow Warden noticed.

"Ah ha!" Adela cried out as she reached with both hands and, straightening, pulled a heavy volume from the trunk. Turning away from the trunk, she opened the leather bound cover and began thumbing through the neatly scribed pages. Alistair, his face feeling cooler, moved to her side, slumping slightly from his greater height to watch as her long fingers glided across the pages, searching. Then, she tapped lightly on a page, showing her friend what she found. He frowned, looking into her face.

"Haven?" He had never heard of it.

The elf nodded, flipping through the pages again, finding a hand drawn map further back of the journal. "We need to head eastward, or more southeastward," she patted where they were now tracing a path to the mysterious village. "It's going to take us at least a week, maybe two make that trip," she groused, frowning. "If the weather holds."

Her eyes skimmed along the map, resting on the icon of a tree, depicting the Brecilian Forest. Biting her bottom lip, she looked up into Alistair's face. "We will make our path to the village," she said, "But, also keep an eye and ear open for word on any of the Dalish clans in the Forest," she tapped a long finger at the tree icon. "Maybe then we can get another treaty recognized as we go along, and save time."

Alistair chuckled a little at that. "Ah, remember last time we thought we were going to 'save time'?" He nudged her lightly with his shoulder, she pushed right back.

"Yes, yes, I seem to recall that not working out as brilliantly as I had planned," she smiled up into his face, fluttering her long eyelashes. "But, what are the chances of something like that happening again?"

Laughing at her, the warden shook his head. "Do you mean with our running luck?" He asked playfully, giving one of her braids a gentle tug.

Batting his hands away, the Warden Commander assumed a scowl, but it didn't last long (especially with Alistair laughing at her). "Yes, well, we'll plan for trouble, and when it doesn't happen," she placed a small hand on his chest, looking up at his under her lashes. "You get to buy me something pretty."

Taking her hand under his, Alistair decided to follow his own advice, and Leliana's, and asked, with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. "And what do I get if I win?"

Her lips parted in a small gasp. Feeling a faint blush crawl to her cheeks, she stepped back a bit, stammering for a reply.

Grinning, thinking that perhaps he could learn to flirt by practicing more, he recaptured her hand. Taking a deep breath, he plunged right in. "A kiss."

Blinking, the flush deepening, she replied, "A kiss?"

Nodding, he released her hand, taking the journal from her other and tucking it into his pack. "Yes, that's my wager." His smile turned a bit more suggestive. "A real kiss. Full on the lips." He took a step closer, still smiling down at her. "At a time of my choosing."

Swallowing thickly, the elf bit her lip, but then raised her eyes and boldly met his, even though her cheeks were flaming now. "It's a wager." She waved a hand blasé, saying, "I'll have to decide what pretty thing you'll have to buy for me." She turned, looking back at him over her shoulder. "And it _will _be expensive."

Alistair just grinned, feeling rather pleased with himself. Chances are things would go smoothly, but he had taken that first plunge, and actually flirted with Adela. It made him feel a bit…warm.

And, although he wasn't one for looking for trouble, he found that he'd like just a small bit of it - perhaps a very small band of bandits in the Brecilian Forest, perhaps harassing a small hunting band of elves - if for the chance of a real kiss from Adela's lips.

With a raised brow, the elf glanced back at the other warden, and then led him from the room to join up with the others.


	24. Chapter 24

_I apologize for this chapter taking so long to post. It's been an awful chapter; my muse ran away on one of those darned Hallas and I couldn't get her back to inspire me properly. I'm not really happy with this chapter, but it's a necessary evil, I fear._

_And, as always, thank you all for the reviews: mutive, Biff McLaughlin, Arsinoe de Blassenville, zevgirl, nithu. And thanks to everyone who has been alerting and favoriting this as well. You have no idea how much this means! Please review and crit. They're great fun to read!_

_Oh! And I got another favorite author alert! Those make me smile as much as a review does!_

_DragonAge: Origins: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 24_

She found herself stumbling along in the dark. The moon was hidden behind dark clouds, and the heavy foliage and tree overhang made the darkness deeper. She scowled, turning about, trying to find her path again. _How could she have been so stupid to have gotten lost of all things_? Her father would be so ashamed of her lack of foresight. Sighing, she felt that her father would be ashamed regardless.

She forced herself to stop. Standing still, her hands on her full hips, she bent her head, catching her breath. There was a camp nearby, one she had scouted out earlier. Her head lifted. There, to the east, the sound of rushing water. Yes, the site had been near a rushing brook. Confident she was at least in the right area, the young woman turned about and, making her way through the darkness, sought out her campsite.

DA:O

The blood mage gazed down at his lover, watching as her chest rose and fell with her gentle breaths. He allowed a moment of tenderness to overtake him as he reached a strong hand to cup her cheek. Tracing his hand down, he followed the strong lines to her shoulders, and lower, tracing the side of her small breast to slim waist and muscled hip. While no beauty, this warrior woman contained what the mage most desired in a person: strength, conviction, a willingness to fight for what she believed, the passion to see it through to the end, and the courage to not walk away. He bent down to kiss her lightly upon her thin lips, adjusting his body to pull her naked form closer to his. She murmured in her sleep, twisting a bit as his hands settled at her stomach, splaying across the lightly muscled abdomen, holding her possessively against his own strong chest.

Arawn's thoughts went over the course of the past few weeks. Howe was still concerned about the Cousland girl's continued absence. But the blood mage did not seem to think it was a matter of great urgency. Loghain had become exceptionally pliant, and the mage did worry about that. The Teyrn was no fool, and was extremely strong in will. Between the poison, blood vials and Arawn's own exceptionally strong magic they had managed to keep the man under firm control. The few times he had broken free, a mere threat to Anora's continued health was enough to get him back under reins.

The fools of the Bannorn continued to press the realm for their freedoms and sovereign rights. _Rights_? They would bow before the throne or loose everything. Already, many of the Banns had either fallen or accepted their losses and bowed knee to Loghain. And, in so doing, bowed knee to _him_.

The reports of increasing darkspawn sightings had the mage concerned. He knew that the Grey Wardens proclaimed only they were fit to fight against a Blight. However, darkspawn fell as easily to his men's blades as they did any others. It was all propaganda, to his mind, and he again thought Maric a fool for having so completely trusted the Wardens. There was no evidence that the Wardens were needed, and there was no evidence this was a Blight.

So convinced, Arawn continued to pull resources in, setting up the power base of the Throne, bringing unlawful Banns and other lords into line, crushing those who opposed.

A smile crossed his handsome face, and he bent down to kiss his love again, before lowering his head to sleep.

DA:O

They entered the Brecilian Forest nearly a week out of Denerim, heading southeasterly. They had stopped at a small village, seeking to resupply, when word had arrived that there were Dalish clans traveling through the forest. Apparently, with this news, the villagers ordered no one to enter the deeper parts of the forest until word arrived the wild elves had left.

Smiling, Adela spoke to the local merchant for direction as to where the clan normally camped. With a frown, and three silvers richer, the man indicated a portion of the Forest, tapping the girl's map with a chubby finger. "That part right there," he said, "is believed to be haunted. Take care of yerself, girlie," he said kindly, looking her over and then the others. "Them wild elves aren't like you city bred ones. They'll shoot you full o' arrows as they would any other."

Thanking him for his time and the warning, feeling better armed with the knowledge her mother had imparted to her during her childhood, Adela led her merry band away from the village and to the Forest.

DA:O

"People have always spoken of dark and mysterious woods, haunted by unseen beings." Leliana spoke as they passed through the thick foliage and dense vegetation of the Brecilian Forest, her voice low, a mysterious quality to her sing-song voice, "The Brecilian Forest is one such forest." The bard smiled at the others as she continued, "They say the Veil is thin here and spirits from the Fade pass over, drifting through the trees and giving them an unnatural and sinister intelligence. It is said that if you feel you are being watched in the Brecilian Forest, you are."

Adela smiled over at the Orlesian, grinning as Alistair stared into the surrounding trees suspiciously and Niall moved just slightly closer to Zevran. Leliana glanced at the small elven woman, a grin upon her pretty face.

"Mamae would tell me," the elf stated, her face softened by memory, "that the trees would walk, and the very trails reorient themselves, trapping the unwary within their boughs for all eternity."

Her fellow warden glanced down at her. "Really?" he grimaced. "Trees actually walked?"

Roland snorted behind them, and the elf grinned wider, looking over her shoulder to the knight. He waggled his red brows at her, and she shook her head. "Be wary, Ser Knight," she scolded playfully. "Lest one of the wild sylvans take hold of you and drop you onto one of the ever changing trails."

Here he laughed, stepping nearer the woman, smiling down at her. "You tease," he proclaimed. "Surely those things do not happen."

It was Leliana who laughed, and Morrigan, walking beside her, scoffed at the knight. "How very droll," the witch uttered. Roland turned to glare at her. "And how very narrow your mind is, Ser Gilmore," she continued, smirking over at the bard with a sidelong glance. "We live in a world where the dead walk, where demons can assume human form. And yet you walk here, amongst the eldest of the forests of Thedas, and proclaim certain can not be so." She arched a brow at him, tipping her head forward. "How very fortunate we are, indeed, to have one of such astuteness amongst us to assure all of what is and what is not possible."

Leliana giggled, bumping into Morrigan's shoulder. The witch merely grinned, accepting the contact with merely a raised brow. Shaking his head, Roland turned back to the pretty elf before him, who was now shaking her own head. But at him.

"Morrigan is correct, you know," she smiled at him. "Why, on our journey, have we not experienced things that others have said could not be possible?" She watched as the knight digested that. "Who truly can say what is and what isn't possible?" She turned back to watch her steps, noticing the Alistair had moved just a bit closer to her side as she lightly scolded the knight.

She did not notice the smirk the other warden tossed at the knight, or the glare he received in return.

"So," Alistair said to his fellow warden, turning his attention away from his rival. "Your mother was Dalish, right?"

Adela nodded her blond head, smiling at up the tops of the trees overhead. "Yes, she was." She grinned over at Alistair. "I certainly hope it is her clan we happen upon," she admitted. "It would be nice to see if any of her family survive."

"And if they would accept you?" Alistair knew all too well the need and desire for family, and knew how much family meant to the elf beside him. Adela nodded in confirmation, continuing to lead the band through the forest.

The band traveled through the forest for several days, making quick camps when the sun settled to the west, rising once the sun had risen to resume their journey. The weather still held, and was warmer than they had anticipated.

During their seventh night in the Forest, Adela had settled down before the fire, one of the smaller pieces of ivory Roland had given her in hand, a curved bladed knife in her hand as she contemplated the piece. She set the blade down, frowning at the piece of white ivory in her hand. She glanced over and watched as Roland and Alistair sparred. A sudden inspiration came upon her and she pulled up the pouch by her side. Reaching in, she plucked out the largest piece of ivory, setting the smaller one back within. Her hand brushed against the ironbark therein.

Pulling out the ivory, she then placed a large cloth across her lap. She settled back, her carving knife back in hand. With a grin, she began to carefully carve the unwanted pieces away, letting them fall to the cloth adorning her lap.

Zevran had settled down across the fire, watching as her quick, agile fingers held the tiny knife, carving flakes of ivory from the main mass. His eyes furrowed as he noticed she continued to flake off the valuable bone, moving the knife around the form continuously. Finally, his curiosity overruled him and he had to ask. "Why not simply cut away the larger pieces that do not belong?" his heavily accented voice obtained a deeper tone with his curiosity. "Why move the blade around the entire mass slivering off mere slices?"

Adela grinned, her dexterous fingers continuing their work. "If I were to make a mistake," she explained as she continued removing thin slices. "It is easier to spot the mistake while removing small bits of the ivory and fixing it."

She raised her blue-blue eyes briefly, then turned them back to her work. "If I removed large hunks of the ivory, I could make a mistake and not have anything to work with to correct the mistake." She frowned as she turned the piece in her hands. "I would hate to have to waste this piece and try to find a replacement when all I needed to do was do the work carefully and patiently."

Her hands stopped, and she lifted her head to smile over at the other elf. "It actually saves no time to cut larger pieces out rather than the smaller slices. The time saved by cutting hunks out is actually then wasted to try and smooth out the edges and reshape the figure."

The assassin smiled, still watching her long, delicate fingers. "Patience, then, is the key, no?" he replied, lifting his eyes to smile into the younger elf's face. She nodded, returning the smile yet keeping her eyes upon her work.

She was comfortable in Zevran's presence, something she knew that both Roland and Alistair, along with Morrigan, could not understand and openly and loudly disagreed with on occasion. The elven warden stood by her decision to allow the assassin to join their group. In the few weeks he had been with them, he had proven to be an excellent fighter, stabbing out from the shadows and disabling foes with an almost unreal ease. She was even starting to consider him a friend of sorts. She was pleased that the assassin had befriended Niall, and had noticed the change in Niall's normally shy demeanor. The human mage was more open now, likely to joke along with everyone else rather than sticking closely by Adela's side, as had been his wont when he first joined up with the crew. Of course, she had also heard the sounds coming from the mage's tent. Sounds that Roland later clarified that the mage had taken the assassin on as a lover. She grinned when she thought of the knight's face when he had advised her of that - it rather reminded her of someone who had eaten an unripe lemon: tough to chew and extremely sour.

Adela looked over to where the knight stood beside Alistair, both men now standing, talking quietly with one another. She was glad the two were getting along. They tended to badger one another at every opportunity they got.

She turned back to the carving in her hand; Zevran remained seated beside her, moving only when Niall came over to join the pair. A grin crossed Adela's lovely face when the mage placed an affectionate arm around the assassin's shoulders.

DA:O

His blade parried one well aimed swing, barely twisting it away from him as his opponent's shield bashed against his own. Both men circled each other, sizing the other up. Evenly matched on many levels, his opponent still had the upper hand in sheer strength.

So, he had to make up the difference with agility.

Skipping to the side, setting his feet under him just so, the knight twisted his wrist, swinging his blade trying to catch the side of the Warden's shield to push it aside. Alistair pulled his shield back, thrusting out with his own blade, seeking to gain entrance around the knight's shield.

A giggle from the campsite caused both men to pause, their eyes shifting to where their - _their _- elven warden sat, a little too close to the elven assassin.

Green eyes met amber, and both men wore matching frowns.

"I don't like her being so close to him," Alistair complained as he lowered both his weapon and shield to step closer to Roland. The knight agreed.

While both men had come to an unspoken agreement that they were rivals for Adela's affections, they were less than thrilled with the prospect of the elven assassin adding his own voice to the competition. Zevran was too worldly, too experienced, and Adela just too naïve to understand the difference between genuine affection - such as possessed by both Roland and Alistair - and a sheer desire to win a conquest to warm his bed. Not thrilled with the prospect of her going to the other, both men were less so with Zevran ever getting his hands on her.

"I do not know how she can trust him," Roland muttered, turning to look at Alistair. The Warden turned his gaze from Adela's smiling face to match Roland's scowl.

With a shrug, Alistair replied, "He has proven…somewhat trustworthy, these past weeks," he offered weakly, still frowning. "I'd just rather he not sit so close to her." Another giggle brought both sets of eyes back to the campsite.

Adela was carving something from the ivory Roland had given her, and Zevran seemed interested in her work. Roland knew, however, that sometimes men would feign interest in something a woman they pursued was skilled in. He knew this firsthand; he had implemented the same measures himself many times in his own pursuits.

Frowning deeply, he looked over at the man he considered his chief rival for the girl's attentions. "We should come to a gentleman's pact," the knight remarked, watching as Alistair's eyes lit with interest.

"How so?" the Warden drawled, wondering what the knight was up to.

Taking a breath, Roland answered, "There's no denying that we each have feelings for Adela," he watched as Alistair's eyes narrowed slightly, and then nodded. "And I think we can agree that each of us have Adela's best interests at heart." He turned and saw that Adela was watching them and smiled at her as her eyes met his. She returned the smile. Alistair turned in time to see the elf turn back to her work. "We are gentlemen, and would not…sorely use Adela for our own gain." Alistair nodded his agreement. "So, we will make certain the elven assassin does not seek to compromise our lady's honor."

The two men eyed each other for a moment, and then, Alistair nodded again. "So be it," he said, holding out his hand.

With that, both men stepped back, raising weapons and shields, seeking to remove the other from his feet.

DA:O

Two days later and the group found themselves in one of the Dalish camps wandering the Forest. At first, Adela had been excited. Although not her mother's clan, she was still thrilled with the prospect of meeting and interacting with the wild elves.

Her thrill and joy had been short lived.

First was the rather rude greeting she had received from the hunter that had found them. Being an elf, she had expected at least a cordial greeting, however, it was the huntress's term for her that caused her spine to stiffen.

_Flat ear._

She had heard her own mother use the derogatory name for those elves born in the influence of humans. Being half Dalish, the girl had never thought of herself as such. And yet, it was glaringly obvious that this would be how her mother's kin would see her.

Gritting her teeth, wanting to respond with a scathing retort, knowing that would not do anything to help their situation, Adela motioned for her companions to follow. She noticed - as did her fellows - that several of the Dalish fell in behind them, their bows trained upon them, ready to release arrows into their midst.

Not quite the welcome she had hoped for.

Alistair, seeming to sense the elf's unease, shifted closer to her, his amber eyes glancing down at her with concern every now and again. Adela was chewing on the inside of her bottom lip, a sign that she was agitated and worried.

The hunters led the strange group to a taller elven male, dressed in robes with an ornate staff holstered to his back. An intricate tattoo outlined his forehead and nose, giving him an almost hawkish countenance. His piercing gray eyes - so similar to her mother's - stared at the group, taking in the mismatch of race, mage, warrior and rogue. His eyes strayed longer upon Zevran's face, taking in the tattoo that traced his left cheek, and settling, finally, upon Adela's young face. She noticed the elven mage's face scrunch up slightly in thought, and she thought she saw a brief flicker of recognition cross his eyes. Both the thoughtful look and recognition vanished from his face, taking on a haughty stare.

"Ah, Mithra," he greeted the lead hunter as they stopped before him. "I see we have guests. Strangers," his eyes settled once again upon Adela. "Led by one of their elves, I see." The way he said 'their elves' left no doubt that to Adela that she had just been insulted.

"Indeed, Keeper," the one called Mithra responded, her eyes skimming over the heads of the group, as though to settle her eyes upon them would be an insult to her. "They claim to be Wardens, but I have seen nothing to indicate it to be so."

Adela frowned at that - wasn't Alistair carrying a shield with the Warden insignia? Did she and he not wear the Warden Oaths?

The Keeper nodded his hairless head, turning his attention back to the group. He turned his eyes to Zevran, ignoring Adela. "How may we be of assistance, then, Grey Warden?"

Zevran would have been amused, save that this arrogant elf had just insulted the woman who had spared his life and who was his friend. He lifted his chin defiantly, stating, "I am not a Grey Warden." he waved a hand toward Adela, who was standing, willing to wait for Zevran to speak. "The young lady here is the Warden Commander of Fereldan." The assassin finished with a deep bow to the younger elf, a smile on his face for her, his eyes only betraying the anger he felt toward to the Dalish Keeper.

Surprise clear in his eyes, the Keeper turned to the young elf. "Truly?" He did not sound convinced. "That one of the flat ears would lead the Grey Wardens?" He apparently thought Zevran to be Dalish.

Adela's spine stiffened, and she took a step forward, her blue eyes flashing. She was Adaia Mahareil's daughter. She would not let this man talk down to her.

"I am Adela Mahariel Tabris," she said, her voice strong and clear. She was pleased to see a look of actual recognition and slight respect cross the Keeper's face. "I am the appointed Commander of the Grey here in Fereldan," she reached into her pouch, pulling forth the treaty that obligated the Dalish. "This," she held it out to the keeper, "is a treaty obligating the Dalish - _you _- to come to our aid during a Blight." She lifted her chin higher. "You have been summoned, Keeper, and therefore must contact other clans and see to your duty."

She thought she heard Morrigan snicker a bit from the back; and she could almost hear the 'good for you' in that sound. Adela had to admit it, she rather liked ordering the self-important Keeper about. She schooled her features into an impassive mask, watching as the myriad of emotions crossed the elder elf's face, containing a smirk when she noticed the surrounding hunters' faces drop in incredulous expressions.

Adela decided she did not wish to join a Dalish clan any longer, if this was how they treated any elf seeking them.

She watched as the Keeper swallowed somewhat, and she believed it must have been some of his pride. He bowed respectfully to her. "I am Zathrian," he said, his voice smooth, "Keeper of this Clan." He rose, his eyes again searching her features. "I take it you are Adaia Mahareil's daughter?"

Adela did well to hide her surprise and nodded her head slightly.

"Your mother was well known to us," he continued. "She was a fierce Hunter, and represented her clan well. Her brother was the Keeper of their clan and ruled wisely, until his untimely death at the hands of shemlen and flat ears," He ignored the raised brow of the younger elf. "We had all thought Adaia killed during the Shemlens' rebellion against their conquerors."

Adela smiled, "Mamae fought alongside the Fereldan King and helped win back the land for his people," she explained. "She met and married my father, a craftsman. She became the protector of the Denerim Alienage, until her death."

Zathrian smirked slightly, then bowed his head, "Ah. Such was Adaia. Always wanting to protect those far weaker than herself." His eyes searched Adela's. "Of course it would lead to her death."

Not wanting to get into this kind of a conversation, Adela pushed the issue of the treaty. "Keeper, we have a Blight to contend with. Whatever your feelings regarding humans and those elves born away from the clans is not an issue…"

"True," the Keeper replied, raising a hand, cutting off whatever Adela was going to say. "However, our clan is in no position to help you. You may well need to continue your search for another clan to spread the word of the Blight."

No, no…"No," she responded firmly, a frown on her face as she stepped closer. The nearby hunters shifted, making ready to protect their Keeper. "We have a treaty that obligates you, _Zathrian_," she maintained a steady hold on her rising temper. She'd dealt with human nobles who were not so obstinate. "You _will _be in a position to promise your warriors, you _will _contact the other clans," she stood toe to toe with the elder now, and he took a step back away from her. "You _will _take a stand against the Blight as I order, as these treaties signed by the Clans necessitate you perform your duty by them."

There was a moment of utter silence and extreme tension. Even the sounds coming from the main bulk of the camp seemed not able to penetrate the ominous hush where the companions stood, where the young elf confronted the elder Keeper of the Dalish clan. It was Zathrian who broke the silence, deep regret, an almost hesitant respect in his voice.

"I apologize, Commander," he said softly. "But our clan is in no position to assist as the treaty demands." He frowned. "Come, I shall explain our situation." And he led the group deeper into the camp, flanked by several of his hunters.

As they trekked further into the Dalish camp, each of the companions took note of the many sick elves lying about on makeshift cots set up in open tents. Adela noticed that there were no children running about, and that the atmosphere within the camp was subdued, almost funereal.

Frowning, she quickened her pace to match step with the Keeper, waiting for him to find his voice to explain what was going on.

When he did find his voice to explain, Adela found she did not like what was being said.

The Dalish had been attacked - ambushed - by a pack of werewolves that inhabited the nearby trees. Many of the clan's folk had been injured or killed. Those who lay sick in the camp were waiting - waiting to die, to submit to the curse and become werewolves, waiting to recuperate. For his people's own protection, Zathrian had forbidden any to enter the Forest, and so they sat, waiting for death or worse to settle upon them.

Adela frowned. The stories her mother told her of the Dalish did not include a willingness to sit down and wait for death. That they did nothing to better their circumstance screamed out as wrong to the young elf. Especially when Zathrian explained that by hunting and killing the source of the curse - this Witherfang - would end their suffering.

"So why do you sit here waiting for death?" the angered elf demanded, turning back to face the Keeper. She felt pity for the clan, that much was true. But to sit there and die? And they had the nerve to belittle the elves that were city born? She scoffed at his weak explanation that they could not afford to loose any others.

"So, I suppose you want us to go in and take care of this Witherfang?" Adela snarked out, not meaning to be cruel, but finding her temper rising too quickly to contain it.

"If you wish for our assistance against the Blight," the Keeper responded.

Adela turned her back to the man. She hated that so many of these people - her mother's people - were suffering. But, they had been delayed so much by now, and still had to find the Urn to save the Arl. "Are there any other clans in the area?" she asked, her voice level, completely ignoring the astonished gasps and looks several of her companions shot her way. She turned slowly to study the Keeper's face.

He nodded, his face an impassive mask. "There are several to the south, one to the north," he responded, frowning. "Although those to the south may have encountered darkspawn…" he frowned, turning his sight toward the south, as though he could see the clans he spoke of. "Your mother's clan is the one to the north, closer to the area the Shemlen call Highever."

Roland stiffened somewhat at the mention of Highever.

Adela bowed her head. She did not like the idea of leaving these people to fend on their own. She could feel the eyes of Alistair, Roland, Leliana and Niall upon her; Morrigan and the Sten merely waiting quietly awaiting her order. Zevran was busy trying to stare down the Keeper that he said nothing nor gave anything away on what he was thinking.

Hafter bumped against the small elf, whining slightly as he settled upon her feet. Absentmindedly, she reached down to scratch between his ears.

Raising her head, she replied, "We will agree to help you," this was accompanied by a slight growl from the Sten, but she easily ignored it. "But, you need to get messengers out to the other clans, advising them of the Blight and the treaty," she watched closely as the Keeper nodded his agreement, noting the relief that crossed his features. "Regardless of the outcome," she pointed at him, her eyes narrowing, "the Dalish will honor their obligations."

Zathrian looked as though to say something, but decided against whatever words he had in mind. Slowly, he nodded, calling Mithra nearer, advising her to gather several runners. With a slight bow, he turned from the group, seeking out his own aravel to compose missives to the nearby clans.

Feeling slightly sick, as though she had just ransomed every life in the clan, Adela turned to her companions to work out strategy for entering the legendary Brecilian Forest.

DA:O

Alistair was not happy. He scowled as he surveyed the supplies he and his fellows were pulling and packing deeper into their packs, pulling non-essentials out and leaving them in the tent the Keeper had provided them for their unnecessary items.

Adela had suggested that the party split into two groups to search out the areas of the forest. It was not this decision he was unhappy with. It made sense: she had argued they had lost enough time as it was, and that searching two areas of the forest simultaneously would cut the time they spent searching out Witherfang and the werewolves. Alistair agreed with that decision, actually.

What he was unhappy about was that he would be leading one group while she the other.

Alistair never liked it when he was separated from Adela.

He was even more unhappy when their fearless leader proclaimed that Alistair's group would consist of Leliana, Morrigan, and Sten. Her group would consist of Roland, Zevran and Niall. Of course Hafter would be part of her group as well.

He did not like the idea that Roland would be with her without Alistair being present to run interference. Even worse that she had Zevran in her group as well. He glanced down at his now full pack, frowning. A sudden thought came to mind, and that frown turned upwards to a smile.

Grinning almost goofily (and he knew it, too), the Warden went in search of his Commander.

He found her rearranging her own pack, handing several packets of elfroot and flasks over to Niall for the mage to place into his own pack. The elf looked up at her friend, smiling at him as she pulled the cinch tight on her pack and rose.

"Everything all set?" she asked as she dusted off her hands and turned to face the other Warden.

Alistair nodded, still grinning at her. Adela quirked an elegant brow at him in an unspoken question.

"You know," Alistair replied smoothly, moving closer to the elf, the grin smoothing out to a smile. "I've been thinking…"

"Now there's a turn for the better," Morrigan muttered as she swept past the pair to procure some of the elfroots from Niall's pack.

Alistair chose to ignore the irritating witch, his attention fully upon the lovely elf standing before him. Adela merely smirked at the witch before turning back to Alistair.

"What have you been thinking, Alistair?" Adela prompted, still not taking in the smile her fellow Warden wore plastered upon his handsome face.

"About our bet," he quipped out, stepping just slightly nearer. A sense of satisfaction flowed through him as he noticed the hesitant look cross Adela's face as she lifted her face to his.

Cautiously, she asked, "What about it?" She did not seem to notice that the pair had their companions' attentions, especially Roland's. Alistair did notice it.

"Well, you see…this whole situation with the Dalish," he swept out a hand to encompass the camp. "This, to me, suggests that I won our bet. You know, that something would come up so that procuring the treaty wouldn't be all that easy." He grinned widely. "No time saved here."

That pinking of her cheeks Alistair enjoyed so much rose, and she asked in a very soft voice, "And you mean to collect on it…now?" she looked quickly about them, noticing the others, her blush rising even deeper. If his scowl was any indication, it was obvious that Roland noticed the change in Adela's coloring.

Nodding, he stepped very close, putting his hands on her shoulders, a thumb rubbing against where her neck and shoulder joined. "I think now is as good a time as any." He almost breathed this part out, feeling a certain tightness in his throat. As outwardly calm and confident as he may outwardly have seemed, he was far from feeling how he looked.

"In front of everyone?" she asked, almost in a whisper, before biting her lower lip.

Nodding, Alistair merely bent his head down, bringing his lips to hers as his hands moved to the back of her head, pulling her closer, moving her head upwards to allow better access to her mouth. He wasn't going to just give her a quick kiss, as friendly as the ones she liked to bestow upon him.

It was nice that Adela relaxed against him.

His lips enclosed upon her lower lip, pulling it from her teeth and he gently sucked on it for a moment before moving his lips to cover her mouth. He more felt than heard the sigh that came from the elf in his arms, and he took that as encouragement. Deepening the kiss, he pressed her against him, his tongue slipping out to sweep over her soft lips. She tasted of honey and berries, most likely from their meal earlier. And her smell - she always had that clean scent of sweet fern about her, and he found his body reacting quite pleasantly to her. Her small hands rose to his chest, but not to push him away. Her own lips moved against his, starting to share in the kiss, when her blue eyes flew open and she gasped. The Warden pulled away reluctantly, staring into her blue eyes, now darkened to a deep sapphire. His body screamed out at the loss of contact. He watched as her eyes went from dark and passionate to confused, and she stammered out that she had to finish getting ready to leave, and hurriedly left his embracing arms.

Steadying himself, ordering his breathing to slow, his heart to stop pounding, the human Warden then took note of the almost triumphant look in Leliana's blue eyes, and heard the snickering and chuckles from Zevran, Niall and Morrigan. Roland shot him a look of pure and utter hatred, while, as always, the Sten merely looked bored.

Deciding he got his point across, Alistair smirked over at Leliana, whose smile widened and she gave him a quick wink, letting him know that he did good in her book. Zevran walked past, patting him on the shoulder, while Niall merely shook his head, trying hard not to further encourage the younger man.

Picking up his pack he glanced back at Roland. Suddenly, he was very pleased that the knight was not going to accompany him into the Forest. The look he gave the ex-templar was far from friendly.

However, Alistair could not make himself feel badly about it. Especially since Adela seemed to not only enjoy the kiss, but had started to return it as well. And the look that crossed her pretty face…that, too, gave him cause to hope that all was not lost.

He could not help but whistle as he gathered up the other party members and begin their trek into the surrounding trees.


	25. Chapter 25

_Thanks to Arsinoe de Blassenville for always reading and reviewing. A few of us authors have noticed reviewing has gone down as of late, but the story & author alerts/favorites seem to be going up. Plus, I see that this story is approaching 300 readers a day. Not too shabby. And, shameless plug here: I've started a new full length story, Beyond the Sylvan Paths. It's a twist to the Dalish origin story line. _

_As always, I own nothing, save for my little elven lass here, Adela. BioWare has the privilege of owning this incredible universe._

_As always, read, review, crit, alert…always nice._

_The Hall Reborn_

_Chapter 25_

He blinked the grit from his eyes, rubbing the back of a large hand across his forehead. Eyes opened, he turned slowly, taking in the now familiar scene before him. Soft, gray light enhanced the room he was in, a small, round table set off to the side, platters of food set upon it, their silvered lids gleaming in the cool light. Two chairs were tucked neatly under. Behind him stood a large, comfortable bed, the bedding neatly arranged and tucked in tightly at the corners. A fire blazed in the stone fireplace, but the warmth of the flames did not reach out into the gray room. He glanced down at himself and found that he was wearing the same comfortable trousers and linen shirt he always wore when in _this _place.

A scowl formed across his rugged features, icy blue eyes narrowing. _Damn it_! He cursed silently, pacing to the table. Lifting the cover from one platter, he noted it was roast duck. The scowl deepened. Had he not known otherwise, he would think this a fruitless endeavor. Yet, even _here_, he knew that taking in the sustenance would benefit him out _there_. And so, rather than standing there scowling at the food, he settled into a chair, and began eating of the spread.

Chewing, he noted that, as always, the food had taste, calling upon his memories of what the repast would truly taste of had it been in the waking world. His scowl deepened as his gaze swept over the room yet again.

He was well aware of his prison, knew that he could open the door and be anywhere within the Palace, anywhere within Denerim, or anywhere within Fereldan. It apparently made no difference to his captor; the Fade was an expansive prison, one which was easy to recall the prisoner from at any time.

This was the Fade.

And his jailer had proven, time and again, how adept he was at manipulating the Fade to torture the man.

Loghain had decided some time ago to stop playing at Arawn's games. He no longer left the confines of the room, but remained herein, eating, reading, or thinking. There had been times he had tried manipulating his surroundings, and he was learning how to do so. The book that now sat upon the bookshelf - the lone book - was one he had conjured from memory. A book from his childhood he had enjoyed. The only book he could recall verbatim, and it was one filled with stories of knights and villains, heroes and princesses. A silly childhood fairy tale, but one that now gave the older version of that boy some peace and serenity, a place for his mind to relax as he tried to ponder and work out how to thwart the mechanisms of Maric's bastard.

"Well, this is new," came a soft voice from the doorway. He cursed himself for not having heard it open, and closed his eyes as recognition of the voice settled in. He placed his food onto his plate, wiping his fingers before rising and slowly turning to face his visitor.

She always seemed to show up during his sojourns into the Fade. He wondered if the bastard knew of her or if she was just a conjuration of his own mind. He doubted he could have thought her up, not as she currently appeared.

Wearing that pretty pink dress Anora had made for her, Adela stood in the open doorway, her bluest of eyes focused upon his face, a frown creasing the corners of her mouth and eyes. The dress was familiar, as were those eyes. But nothing else was recognizable as the delicate elven artist he had known since she was a child.

For, beneath the dress he could see the outline of musculature of her arms, the lean grace of her slender body beneath the silken fabric. Upon her hands small criss-crossed scars, blaringly white, shone against her now tanned skin. But, most telling were the small lines that formed across her brow.

Those overwhelming eyes fixed upon his own, a blond brow quirking up as she awaited his response. Whether conjured by the bastard who now commanded him or of his own imaginings, she was company, and he found himself despairing in his isolation.

"To you, perhaps," he said in that cold, calm way he always did. He did not fail to notice that the corners of Adela's pretty mouth tilted upwards in a slight smile.

"I take it you have found yourself here often?' She asked as she stepped into the room, studying the near bookless shelves, the too neatly made bed and the food laden table. Loghain scoffed at that, settling back into his chair as the dream-Adela pulled the second from the table and perched herself down upon it, almost absentmindedly lifting the platter covers and inspecting the food.

She actually grinned as she surveyed the platter filled with sweets and pastries.

"I never knew you for such a sweet tooth," she smirked at him as she lifted a chocolate petites four, nibbling at it. He watched as she lifted the treat to her lips, taking tiny bits with her small, white teeth, her pink tongue licking up stray crumbs.

"Hmmm…" he said, "I try not to indulge, as you know." She smiled at him, placing the pastry back onto the platter.

Her eyes again did a scan of the room, resting upon the bookshelf. "I would have expected more books," she said pointedly, frowning.

He shrugged. "So would I," he replied, frowning. "However, trying to remember books verbatim is not a task I have committed myself to."

If she heard him, she gave no indication. Instead, her eyes were settled back upon his face, that thoughtful frown - one he knew well from watching her at her work or listening as Cailan and Anora sought her advice on things dealing with the Alienage - back in place as she studied him. It felt so much like her that it almost - _almost _- unnerved him. However, he knew that she was dead, and that this was merely his own pathetic need for companionship. That he choose her instead of any of the others only proved how pathetically lonely and distraught he was over the current situation.

"What are you watching for?" he asked, impatient, now only wanting her to just leave.

That brow rose again, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm just trying to see the Loghain that would leave his king and the wardens behind to die to darkspawn hands," she seemed to ignore the anger that rose in his eyes and the clenching of his hands upon the table. Her eyes continued their scrutiny of his face. "However, all I see is _you_," she frowned again, shaking her head.

"Tell me, Loghain," she asked her voice strong, yet soft. "was it always in you to allow the murder of so many?" Her head tilted to the side slightly as she watched his reaction. "For no greater good, for no gain, save for perhaps something that was never yours?" Her frown deepened. "Is that why I can only see you as I have always seen you? Instead of as a monster responsible for regicide and the possible death of his nation?"

Fury ignited within him, and he launched himself to his feet, his eyes blazing with cold anger. He reached over to grasp the small elf woman, but she had gracefully leapt to her feet, and now danced away from him, her entire demeanor changed.

"I did not leave Cailan and the Wardens to perish!" he raged, stepping nearer to the withdrawing elf.

"And yet they are dead!" she scoffed back, and he watched as her attire changed. No longer was she clad in the pretty dress he knew to be her favorite. But neither was she dressed in her mother's leather armor, but wore instead a short robe that came to her knees, a deep 'V' neckline showing much of her cleavage, leaving her arms bared. He almost absentmindedly to note of how very tan her flesh had become. Her daggers - Adaia's daggers - were now naked in her hands, and her bow was slung along one shoulder, her quiver slung low and tilted to her back. Her long blond hair, loose just moments before, was now bound tightly in a plait down her back, wispy curls framing her fierce face. She reminded him so much of Adaia. Yet, she had something that Adaia, in all the time he had known her and fought beside her: compassion. Despite their current confrontation, despite that this was merely a pale reflection of Adela, the compassion he knew so well in her was there, reflected in those impossibly blue eyes.

Loghain stilled, watching the elf before him. He could almost feel her anger, her displeasure. This was not how she had visited him before during his stay in the Fade. Always, they had talked of other things, never of the current situation. And now she pushed, trying to get answers from him. Was it his way of trying to get answers? After all, these were questions he had asked himself, during his more lucid moments in the waking world. Had Arawn been able to control his actions even then? Or had he always had the capability to cause such atrocities? In the name of fealty to his nation? Regardless of cost to king and country? He doubted it, strongly.

"I did not abandon Cailan," he repeated, quietly, his eyes fixed upon her beautiful face. "We have all been betrayed, and I am powerless to stop it."

With that admission, Adela's battle stance eased, and she stared at the man before her in confusion. She opened her mouth as though to speak, but then tipped her head to the side, as though listening. Still frowning, she stepped forward, her blades still in hand, but held loosely at her sides. Those deep, thoughtful eyes scoured his features, piercing into his very soul. And, then, without another word, she vanished from his sight.

Releasing the breath he had held, the Teyrn stared at the space she had occupied before settling back down into his chair.

DA:O

A firm hand, gentle, rested upon her shoulder, giving it a soft shake. "Adela?" Roland's voice called to her, quietly. The elf opened her eyes, smiling up into the greens of the knight.

"Did I oversleep?" she asked as she pushed herself from her bedroll, taking quick note that Zevran and Niall slumbered not too far from where she lay. The small fire they had set up still burned, offering some warmth to the bedrolls set nearby.

A broad smile crossed Roland's handsome face as he reached down to help her to her feet. "No. But, you weren't sleeping very soundly, so I thought I should wake you."

Her smile matched his as she settled before the fire, reaching over to inspect the stew pot. Finding it empty, she then reached for the kettle and set it upon the fire to heat the water.

"Thanks," she replied, pulling out a cup and some tea. "Since we've gotten to this part of the Forest, I've been having very strange and…vivid dreams." She sat, frowning into the flames. She felt Roland take a seat beside her and looked up.

"I have noticed that your sleep has been restless," he said with sympathy, recalling how two nights prior she had sat up, screaming in her sleep, and how it had taken all three of her companions to settle her down, Hafter laying atop her legs to help keep her still.

Niall had explained that Adela had developed a strong sensitivity to the Fade, most likely brought about by her prolonged exposure to the Fade during their trip through the Circle. When Roland had pointed out that the others - including the mage himself - had been in the Fade as long or longer, Niall quickly pointed to the fact that Adela had been aware - awake - which was almost unheard of for someone with no magical ability whatsoever. Everyone else, except for himself, had succumbed to their dreams, and it was Adela who had awakened them. Niall, as a mage, was more comfortable in the Fade.

Adela had also learned how to shape shift within the Fade, effectively manipulating the dream realm to suit her own needs. That, too, had been only something only a mage - and a powerful one - would be able to do during the aware state. Although a dreamer may be able to manipulate dreams while in their dream state, to do so while awake and aware within the confines of the Fade was extraordinary.

Now that they traversed the Brecilian Forest, an area known to have pockets of thinning Veil. He predicted that Adela's own sensitivity would be more pronounced.

The kettle started whistling, and Roland bent forward, picking it up and pouring some of the steaming water into Adela's cup. He noticed that the elven woman was watching him from the corner of her eyes. Arching a brow, he grinned over at her.

"Something on your mind?" he asked as he settled back down.

Blowing across the top of her cup, she nodded. "I was wondering how you were doing?" she asked as she took a cautious sip, grimacing at the heat of the beverage.

"I'm well," the knight replied, a little confused by her concern. "Why? Have I given any indication I am unwell?"

Smiling, she reached over and patted the knight on his arm. "No," she replied, taking another small sip of her tea. "Actually, you seem to have recovered from your ordeal very well." She raised her face, her eyes searching Roland's face.

He was tired, but they all were. They had been traveling within the Forest for several days, and battled many packs of werewolves, blight wolves, darkspawn and other creatures. Not only were their days spent battling such creatures, but, as Adela and Leliana had warned, the forest itself seemed intent on keeping them from its center, always turning them around, backtracking, returning to previously explored areas. It was wearing on the four companions, and Adela found herself worrying over Alistair and his group.

She was not worried about Roland's well being; she could tell that he had recovered nicely and seemed strong and hale. What worried her was that he had yet to truly talk about his ordeal. Always one for full disclosure, Adela had found talking to be the best medicine. She had found solace in speaking with Alistair about her ordeal at the hands of Vaughan, and credited that talk toward her healing. She could only wonder at the scars Roland carried upon his heart and soul.

Roland watched as she studied his face, and she noticed a slight blush form on his pale skin. She had always wondered about that - he spent as much time in the sun as any of them, and yet his skin always had an almost alabaster quality to it. It never tanned, but had burned, only to give way, yet again, to the very pale skin. Realizing the direction her thoughts had gone, she felt a slight blush of her own.

They sat in silence with one another for several moments. Adela spoke. "You had mentioned the possibility of one of the Couslands having survived," she reminded him, recalling when he explained his torturers had asked about the Cousland girl, Elissa. Roland nodded, frowning slightly.

"If anyone escaped it would be Elissa," he confirmed softly, a hesitant quality in his voice.

Picking up on his uncertainly, Adela asked quietly, "Did you know her well?" She watched as his face fell slightly, and she thought she had her answer.

"No," the knight replied, frowning as he looked over at the elf. "Elissa was…is a brave, skillful young woman. One of the most resourceful people I know. However," his eyes took on a slight faraway look before settling back on her face. "Elissa was very aware of the differences in station." He reached out and gently eased a stray lock of Adela's hair behind her ear. "We had known each other since we were children, since before my father brought me to squire for the Couslands. Yet, there was no familiarity, no friendship. Only titles and duty, a great understanding that she was the daughter of a Teyrn, and I the squired son of a minor Bann."

Adela listened, watching as his hand went back to his lap. "Did you love her?" she asked quietly, trying to figure out the pensiveness behind Roland's behavior.

He shook his head. "No," he replied. "As wonderful as many thought of Elissa - Cailan included - those of us who lived with her knew the truth behind her genteel nature." He noticed she frowned. "Elissa wasn't a bad person, just always, always aware and alert to the fact that her family was the second most powerful in all of Fereldan." He shrugged. "I also recall her being very upset that Cailan choose Anora over her when the prospect of marriage came up."

A small laugh escaped Adela's lips. Roland looked at her questioningly. "Sorry," she waved a tiny hand at him. "I've known Cailan and Anora since before they were wed. I have a hard time picturing Cailan with anyone other than Anora."

The knight smiled. "I had forgotten you were friends with the royals," he settled back a bit, his eyes fixed upon Adela's face, thoughtful for a moment. "Elissa would not have liked you." He said a slight touch of humor in his voice.

"Ha!" she swatted at him. "Why not?"

He shrugged. "Other than your being an elf…" he smirked. "You are far too pretty. Elissa never liked competition, and trust me, you are far more than merely competition." He reached over and traced her cheek with one calloused hand, smiling as she blushed slightly at his compliment. "You are also too nice. People like you, regardless of any preconceptions they may have." His eyes swept over to where Zevran lay as his hand fell from her face. "Even if they are paid to dispose of you, you have a knack for getting them to change their minds."

The elf grinned. "That's a talent more inherited from my father than my mother, I fear." She sipped at her cooling tea. "Father can put anyone at ease, befriend anyone, and calm nearly any situation. Mother had more a talent for inciting riots." She sighed, missing her mother more than ever. "But, she was brave, and strong. Had a firm sense of what was right. And even though she may not have liked the situation with the Alienage, she always did her best to protect the elves who lived there." Her head bowed slightly. "I remember the funeral they had for her when she died." She lifted her head, looking over at her friend. "She would have hated it!" she chuckled, recalling how the elves had buried Adaia, planting a tree upon her grave. It was the words they had spoken, from the Chant, admonishing the deceased to never walk the path to the Golden City that her mother would have hated!

Roland laughed, placing an arm across Adela's shoulders. "I would like to have met your mother," he said, giving her a slight squeeze.

"I don't think you would have," she replied, her eyes scanning the surrounding woods. "She really didn't like humans overly much." She frowned. "Actually, I'd almost say she hated them. The only ones I knew she considered friends were Queen Rowan and Teyrn Loghain." She lifted her face to his, unable to identify the look that crossed his face. "She didn't like King Maric much."

"Is that how you met Cailan and Anora?" Roland asked, not knowing Adela's history with the family.

The elf shook her head. "No. I didn't meet them until after my mother's death. I know Mamae kept in contact with the Queen and Teyrn, but once the Queen died…" She shrugged her shoulders.

She frowned, her eyes dimming in memory. She told Roland how her mother had met her death, how Loghain had rescued her and brought her back to the palace so that he could advise Maric, immediately, of Adaia's death, to try and make a point to the king of promises made and not kept. She remembered in great detail how Loghain had carried her mother's body, his fine armor and clothing covered in her blood, the entire way through the streets of Denerim, through the nobles' quarter, past merchants and the Chantry, to the Alienage, seeking out her father, before relinquishing the body of his friend. The look that Loghain had shared with her father came back to her; the look shared by two men who lost something that had been important to them. She recalled how Loghain had looked to the small elven child that had followed him, quietly, in his shadow, and how he knelt to one knee to give that child a firm hug.

It was after that that he and Cyrion had reacquainted themselves, and how regular visits to the palace had ensued from there.

Sitting there, listening to her quiet voice, watching as the memories passed across her face, Roland nodded. "He was your hero," he said insightfully.

Adela nodded. "For the longest time I was infatuated with him," she grinned up into Roland's face. "What little girl doesn't dream of a hero to save her from the villains? He made me a part of his family, taught me how to handle a mabari, how to stand up for myself and never think of myself as _just _an elf." She shrugged. "Sometimes those lessons are hard to remember." She turned her face back to the fire.

"It must be difficult now," Roland said after a few moments thoughtful pause. "To know that he had left the king and the wardens behind. To face the darkspawn alone."

"It is," she acknowledged. "But," she turned back to the knight. "There are other things to ponder upon. And," she smirked over at the two sleeping men behind them. "You need to get some rest. Come on," she rose, putting out a hand for the knight to grasp. "Let's wake these two sleepy heads so that you can get some rest."

Taking her very small hand in his, giving it a squeeze, the knight rose to his feet, and went over to the sleeping men to awake them for watch duty.

DA:O

The next day found the group wandering the ever changing trails of the Forest. Roland and Adela led the group, Hafter taking point, at times racing ahead, sniffing out new smells, and then returning quickly. Niall followed behind the knight and elf, with Zevran, ever alert, at the rear.

Although the day was sunny and bright, the sunshine and warmth had difficulty penetrating the thick cover of the Forest. Shadows dappled the ground, creating shadowy areas and cooler shades. A light mist covered the ground in some areas, especially the areas nearer older growths and swampy grounds. Adela's robes contained a charm so that she felt little of the chill in the air. She wore her cloak off one shoulder to allow better access to her bow and arrows. Poor Niall, however, had no such luck with his robes, and shivered as he pulled his cloak tighter about him. Both Roland and Zevran foreswore cloaks, complaining that they got in the way of combat and were a nuisance to remove prior to engaging the enemy.

Their journey that day took them into a portion of the Forest they had not been before. Or, at the very least, a portion that none of them recognized. The trees were very old here, and Hafter seemed a bit more on edge, more wary as he trotted ahead of the group, his sharp senses alert: ears raised and constantly twitching for sounds, nose more often than not to the ground, eyes constantly scanning, watching to be certain of his mistress's position in the group as well as the path ahead.

Roland felt as on edge as the dog apparently was. A glance to the elven archer beside him alerted him to the fact that she, too, felt it. Niall pressed slightly closer to the two, making his own ill ease felt. A glance backward found Zevran's own sharp elven eyes watching the area closely - his eyes focused above them rather than around them, scanning the treetops with apprehension.

"So," Niall started after clearing his throat nervously. "You had another bad dream last night?" this question was directed to Adela.

She nodded. "Comes with the territory," she replied, her eyes glancing back at the mage before resuming their scan of the area. She saw his confused expression and clarified. "All Grey Wardens experience…vivid dreams, especially during a Blight."

"Ah," the mage said wisely. "And with your own sensitivity to the Fade, these must be even more vivid." His expression seemed one of a scholar taking mental notes, to file away for future reference.

"You're the one saying I'm overly sensitive, Niall," the elf pointed out good naturedly, emphasizing with a pointed finger to his chest. "I never said any such thing."

The mage scoffed at her. "Really, Adela," he gentled scolded, grinning at Roland. "I am an expert on the Fade, or have you forgotten how we met?"

"Forgotten?" She queried, glancing back again. "Oh, yes, completely forgot how we met, yes I did. Tower full of demons and abominations. Oh! And the pleasant excursion into the Fade." She rolled her eyes then. "Completely forgot," she ticked one finger off a temple, clicking her tongue. "Right out of my mind."

She felt his long fingered hand settle upon her shoulder, twitching with a chuckle. "Yes, yes, my dear little elven Fade wanderer," he just would not give up. "But, I tell you, the things you did in the Fade no non-mage ever could have - or should have - been able to do." He removed his hand. "I stand by my initial assessment that you are sensitive to the Fade." His brown eyes softened slightly. "I'd almost say that you could well have been mage-born, save the lack of spell casting."

Adela was about to respond with a sarcastic comment when Zevran shushed them to silence. Roland immediately pulled his sword from his back, fixing his shield to his arm. Adela's bow was in hand, an arrow held loosely in the other as her sharp eyes pierced the misty depths of the forest around them. Niall stepped back somewhat, a quick spell coming to mind.

It was then that they heard it: a low, grinding groan, like the creaking of wood. The noise grew in volume. The sound of snapping twigs and wood brought Adela around, her arrow fully nocked to her bow, bowstring pulled taut. She faltered for a moment as she saw the looming figure of an ancient tree, towering over the companions, its branches reaching out as arms. Blinking past her sudden fear, the elf let loose an arrow, one enchanted with fire, paying scant attention as some of the wild sylvan's leaves caught aflame. Frowning in concentration, she nocked another arrow and let loose.

There is more creaking of wood groans and Niall found himself facing off against another wild sylvan. Cursing, the mage jumped back, his hands fanned out as flames spurted forth, catching the walking tree on fire. From the corner of his eye, he spied Zevran leaping forward, his daggers in hand, ducking beneath swinging branches. Now mindful of the elven assassin's presence beneath the boughs of their woodland foe, the mage called forth a winter's grasp spell, hoping to freeze the monstrous tree into immobility. Astonishingly, the thing shrugged off the magical assault, swinging out with a burning branch to snap the mage from his feet, sending him sprawling upon his back with an "oof".

Arrow after arrow, each blazing with magical fire, flew into the thick boughs of the wild sylvan. Roland ducked beneath a swinging branch, raising his shield to deflect a second, driving forward with his sword, trying to pierce the tough bark of the tree's trunk. Another groan erupted from the mobile tree, and he felt the ground shudder beneath his feet. Stumbling backwards, the knight braced his feet, striving to maintain his footing and balance. A sharp crack followed, and Roland found himself encased in a cage of twigs, branches and bark, all pressing against him, holding him immobile. He heard Adela cry out his name, but he could not turn his head to see her. He felt the heat rise as the wood encasing him caught aflame, and he found his movement no longer impaired. Pushing backwards, he broke through the weakened wood, staggering backwards, shield and sword raised, he was a bit singed, but free.

Zevran stared at the burning trunk in consternation, and then began hacking away at it with his daggers. He had no idea how, exactly, they would fell these behemoths, but the flames caused by Niall's spells and Adela's arrows seemed to be doing the trick. As he danced away from one sweeping, burning branch, he made a mental note to have a flame rune added to his daggers.

Adela's fire arrows were starting to run low, and she wasn't confident that the missiles enchanted with ice would do as much damage as those of fire. She was more aware than watchful of Roland's continued hacking and bashing at the mobile and vicious tree, careful to avoid his ever moving form as arrow after arrow flew from her fingers. An echoing groan to her left told her that Niall and Zevran's foe was being overtaken, and she hoped that it would fall soon so that the mage could apply his flame spells to this one. It was taking far too long.

Roland almost seethed. The damnedable thing just would not fall! He bashed at the thing with shield, hacking at it with his blade. Great hunks of wood and bark - burnt and otherwise - fell from the sylvan in abundance, yet still the thing struggled, stomped, swatted and bashed at the knight. He could hear Hafter growling and barking in the background, and then heard a sudden yelp from the warhound. Hoping the faithful beast was alright, he continued his assault. He could hear the fire crackling upon the other sylvan, but could not spare a glance from his current foe. Barely dodging one vicious strike, the knight rolled to the ground, bringing his shield up just in time to deflect a back blow from the creature.

From the corner of his eye, he watched the huge warhound sail through the air to lie motionless feet from where Adela stood, still streaking arrows into her foe. Frowning, the mage continued his magical onslaught of the wild sylvan. Niall's mana was draining quickly as he continued to hurl spells at the quickly failing, burning tree. Fires crackled and continued to consume the ancient, dry wood and bark, rushing upwards towards the halo of leaves. Exhausted, the mage - more scholar than battlemage - stumbled backwards slightly, grasping a vial of blue liquid from his pouch and downing it in one, quick gulp. Reenergized, the mage called forth another blast of flame, sending it spewing upon the sylvan. He saw Zevran duck from beneath its canopy, skipping back into the open as it gave its final groan, falling to the forest floor with a great boom.

Panting, sparing a glance to the elf, the mage took out another vial, downing that as he turned toward the still battling form of the second wild sylvan.

Her fire arrows spent, Adela reached for one of ice. She noted with satisfaction that while it did not do the damage the fire did, the ice did cause the wild sylvan injury. Her eyes settled upon Roland's kneeling form, his shield held upwards as he deflected the on coming swung of arms of wood. She aimed her bow at the appendage, firing it quickly as she reached for another arrow to let loose. The missile struck the assaulting branch cleanly, the force in which it hit the rotted wood, the ice of the enchantment weakening it further, allowing it to continue its trajectory through the wood and into the trunk behind. The second arrow cut through close to the first wound, weakening the appendage greatly.

Seeing the opportunity, Roland surged to his feet, leading with his shield, putting all his weight behind the strike as he smashed the bulwark into the appendage. He was rewarded with the sharp sound of snapping wood, and smiled grimly as the branch broke in half, the lower part falling to the ground.

"Ware yourself!" Niall cried out to Roland, barely allowing the warrior time to dodge out of the way as he sent forth a steady stream of flame. Maintaining concentration, using all of his mana, the mage moved his arms, allowing the flames to lick hungrily at the full length of the sylvan. Dry wood and bark crackled and caught afire, the flames consumed the ancient fuel, rising steadily upwards into the vast canopy of leaves, igniting the top of the tree. Thoroughly drained, Niall slumped to the ground.

Crying out in victory, Roland dashed forward, bashing his shield and slamming his sword into the quickly weakening sylvan. Zevran danced and dodged, slicing his blades into the wood. Eventually, the fires overcame the creature, and it, too, crashed to the forest floor, the flames continuing to consume the tree, leaving behind only a burnt husk.

Panting, the companions looked at one another, concern upon their features. Adela quickly slung her bow onto her shoulder, dashing over to the still seated Niall. He smiled weakly into her concerned face, waving away her questing hands, assuring her he was unharmed, merely tired. Nodding, the elf turned her attentions first to Zevran, the nearest. He had managed to escape injury, acquiring only scrapes and bruises, perhaps a singed lock of golden hair. Roland had taken more injury, and the elf insisted he remove his armor so that she could check him over and heal any injuries. Niall unstoppered another vial of lyrium, one less potent than those he took during battle, quickly quaffing it in one swallow. He rose, unsteadily, to assist in the knight's healing. Zevran placed a steadying hand to the mage's elbow, waggling his eyebrows at his lover as he helped him over to the others.

Roland escaped the battle with bruised ribs, several cuts, and some scorching. He grinned up at Adela, who was still nervously inspecting him for more wounds, trying to quell the concern and anxiety he saw etched upon her fine features.

"I promise from here on out," the knight vowed weakly, trying to catch his breath, although whether from the battle or from the touch of Adela's warm hands on his flesh he rightly could not say. "If you were to tell me that Andraste came back reincarnated as a dragon, I will believe you until there is proof to the contrary." He winced slightly as he shifted, his bruised ribs protesting against the movement.

Adela smiled down at the knight as she applied a healing poultice to a particularly nasty gash. "I'll hold you to that promise, Ser Knight," she proclaimed, a twinkle in her blue eyes.

Zevran, his usual cool grin upon his face, slumped to the ground beside Niall, draping an arm across the mage's shoulders. "You know," he said in his heavily accented drawl. "I think it is time for a nap, no?" He gestured toward the still burning sylvans. "We have plenty of heat, yes/"

Staring at the elf, her hands just mere fractions from Roland's skin, Adela shook her head, trying to stifle the laugh that threatened to force itself past her lips. Her eyes glance over to the knight, startled by the intensity behind his stare. With another shake of her fair head, she carefully wrapped a bandage about his broad chest, fastening it quickly, and then helped him replace the torn cotton undershirt he wore beneath his armor. Revitalized, Niall leaned over and cast another healing spell over the knight, taking care of any injuries Adela's ministrations would not have been able to see to.

Once properly bandaged and attired, the party rose to their feet and, with a final glance at the smoldering corpses of the trees, headed away, trying to seek out and penetrate the center of the forest.


	26. Chapter 26

_Hmmm…add Loghain and I get more reviews than the previous chapter. Huh. Who'd've thunk it? Maybe I need to add him every chapter? Naw…can't do that!_

_Anyway, thanks as always to Arsinoe de Blassenville (who always reads and reviews), mutive, Windchime68, Nithu, zevgirl; also to Biff McLaughlin and megglesnake who both sent me PMs; and for all the alerts, favorites, etc. that keep showing up in my mail bin. I love these!_

_As always, I am not going canon with game or stories. I just can't do it! I have to twist it, make it my own in some, small way. Otherwise, I'd just go and play the game. Wouldn't you?_

_As always, I own nothing (which is too bad; the money made from the game alone would, well, set me up for life) except for Adela._

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 26_

The crackling of the fire nearly mesmerized, his vision blurry as his amber colored eyes fixed upon the flickering tendrils of flame. He was daydreaming, again. Allowing more pleasant thoughts to cloud the worry that he had been feeling since separating from Adela mere days before.

A movement to side alerted the young Grey Warden that he was not alone. Turning his red-blonde head, he spied Morrigan, seated closer to him than was usual, the black grimoire Adela had rescued from the desiccated remains of First Enchanter Irving's office clutched tightly in her slender, graceful hands. He could not avoid the intense expression of worry that clouded the lovely witch's face.

Frowning, realizing that she had planted herself so close, but had not yet said a word, Alistair decided it would be left to him to start. "So, Morrigan," he drawled out, just a hint of sarcastic humor in his tone. "What brings you out this fine, lovely evening?" he questioned, glancing upwards at the dark canopy that obscured the moon's light.

The witch returned the warden's frown, and he could now see how very troubled her eyes were. She opened her to mouth to speak, and then snapped it shut, sneering over at the ex-templar. Sighing, realizing that she wasn't going to say anything, he slumped forward, his arms dangling between his knees as he resumed his watch of the firelight, wondering how Adela and the others - but mostly Adela - fared.

"I have a worry, Alistair," Morrigan's voice, soft and filled with unease, broke him from his contemplation. Startled slightly, he raised his head, his eyes filled with question, prompting her silently to continue. The witch turned her dark head, those strange, predatory eyes fixing upon the flames Alistair had stared at for so long.

Realizing that she would need further prompting, he queried, "What worry do you have, Morrigan?" he tried this time to keep any sarcasm from his voice. She was obviously upset and, as the leader of the group, it was his job to see to any issues any of them had. After all, that was what Adela did, wasn't it? In her nightly ritual of taking time to speak to each companion, to ensure he or she was comfortable, listening to any complaints, concerns, wonders or wishes they may have. He had wondered where the tiny elf had gathered the strength to do so. After all, other than he and Roland (both of whom, he admitted, had ulterior motives to lending an ear), none of the other companions truly offered their own shoulders upon which she could lean.

_She's wishing Adela was here as much as I am_, the warden realized as he watched the hesitation with which the witch sat, her eyes squinting as she tried to gather whatever courage she needed to proceed. He waited patiently, knowing that this was what Adela would do, determined to act in such a manner that the elven warden would be proud of.

It took a few more minutes of staring into the fire, and finally Morrigan found her voice again. Turning to face Alistair, that look of consternation and fear still there, she began. "When Adela handed me this grimoire, I had hoped to find spells of my mother's." Her eyes clouded somewhat, expressing a sadness he had never thought to see in those eyes. "What I found instead was….not at all what had been expected." She fell silent, those unnerving eyes straying to the black, leather bound tome in her hand, her fingers nervously fidgeting along the engraved surface.

"What?" he asked quietly, keeping the witch on track without forcing her to do so.

Almost as though startled, she glanced up. "Ever have I wondered," she said quietly, "as to the secret behind Flemeth's long life span." She frowned. "The answer to that question lies within the pages of this tome." She rose to her feet, nervously pacing before the fire. Alistair's head twisted slightly at the sound of noise behind them; he realized it was Leliana leaving her tent, seeking a spot in the trees for relief.

Morrigan's eyes followed the young Orlesian, and they turned back to the warden only when the red head vanished in the undergrowth.

"Long have there been tales of the daughters of Flemeth," she said disjointedly, her explanation not following any clear lines of logic, stumbling upon themselves to be brought into the open. "Yet never have I met a one of them," she slumped down to the log beside Alistair, her eyes searching his face. "Never had it been mentioned of their existence by Flemeth. And now, I know why." She took a deep steadying breath. "Each one of those 'daughters' were, in fact, Flemeth."

She watched as Alistair's face scrunched in confusion before continuing. "When her body would grow old and wizened," she explained hastily, just trying to get this out. How she wished Adela was here! "She would raise up a daughter. Whether of her flesh or otherwise, it is not clear," she frowned, staring down at her hands now. "When that daughter became of age and power, Flemeth would then use her magic to usurp the girl's body, making it her own." Tears now shone in her eyes; tears of anger, concern, fear. Alistair felt a momentary pang of pity for the witch who so often taunted and teased him. And, here she was, pouring out a fear to him. Now he wished more fervently that Adela was here!

He reached over and placed a large, calloused hand over hers. Morrigan flinched slightly, but maintained a steady hold of her tongue and emotions, allowing the contact. "And that's what she planned for you?" he prompted, watching as she nodded her dark head.

"Indeed," she opened the pages, pointing to one entry. Alistair's eyes scanned the strange runes, unable to decipher the writing, yet recognizing it as arcane runes used by mages. "Here she tells of the ritual used; how the spirit of the girl is forced out, the body taken over." Her head rose defiantly. "I will not wait around like some empty sack to be filled!" venom scorched her voice, giving it power and determination.

"How can we protect you?" the ex-templar asked, determined that Adela's friend would not suffer. As much as he and Morrigan did not get along, there was a comradely between them all, and Morrigan had proven time and again that she was a friend, a trusted ally. He watched as she seemed to struggle with herself, but she did respond.

"Flemeth needs to die," she said after a moment, strength and determination sharp in her cultured, archaic voice. "However, I cannot be part of the undertaking." She rose again, standing in front of Alistair, her hands on her hips. "If I were to be nearby when the deathblow is struck, there is no guarantee that she cannot usurp my body at that time."

"You want us to kill her for you?" he asked, following along, unsure of this course.

She nodded. "Yes," she settled down beside him again. "And yet, even then, I cannot be at all certain that she shall truly be dead. " A frown formed upon her smooth brow. "I understand, Alistair, that you cannot make this decision without Adela," she raised a slim hand, smiling faintly at the young man. "She is, after all, our leader and the one to make such decisions. I…" she bowed her head. "I only brought this up now as it has been festering in my heart and mind, and I needed its release should I go mad."

He watched her down turned face, saw that she struggled against the tears in her eyes. The near panic in her voice moved him greatly, and he saw Morrigan not as some bitchy witch intent upon every moment of discomfort she could inflict upon him, but as a frightened young woman who desperately needed her friends' help. Friend. Hmmm…yes, he was her friend. Adela was far closer to her, but Alistair could well admit that Morrigan was his friend.

"I'll talk with Adela about it when we regroup," he promised, touching her tightly clasped hands lightly. Morrigan looked up, her expression a tender combination of surprise and thankfulness. "Knowing our fearless leader," he grinned at her, trying to elicit a smile from the witch, "she'll readily agree."

Morrigan allowed herself a breath of relief and she nodded, patting Alistair's hand with her own. "Thank you, Alistair," she said quietly as she rose. Leliana was returning to the camp and, after a quick look to Morrigan, entered her tent. "I…shall retire for the eve." With that, she left Alistair's company to seek refuge in the quiet sanctity of her tent.

He watched her depart, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. With a shake of his head, he turned back to the fire, aware as the Sten rose to take up his watch for the evening.

DA:O

Did that mad old mage actually suggest that they go and make kindling of an ancient, _sentient _tree? Alistair's eyes rolled and he smirked, catching a similar expression upon Morrigan's face.

"All because you took his acorn?" the ex-templar asked, trying hard to keep the disbelief from his voice. Why he tried, he had no idea. The mage that stood before him - leaves and twigs hanging throughout his wild hair and unkempt beard, his brown eyes glazed over and yet sharp as any revered mother's - seemed to take issue with every word - every sound - that came from Alistair's lips.

"Ah, a question for a question, is it?" the mage rambled, his eyes narrowing as he clutched dirty hands to an equally filthy robe. "Fine, fine, we'll play your games. And, you can report back to them!"

"Them?" Alistair muttered, frowning, still staring at the mad man before him. "I'm not…"

But the mage interrupted him, flashing a hand before Alistair's eyes, causing the younger man to step back slightly to avoid being swatted. "No, no, no! That is not a proper question!"

Dumbfounded, the warden could only stare at the man. Morrigan scoffed at the mage and stepped forward. "A question has been asked, you foul old man!" the witch scolded, hands on her hips.

The mad mage stopped his ranting, and stood staring at the lovely witch. A slight twitch of his lips ensued. "A mage!" he screeched, causing the younger mage to flinch. "That's _cheating_!"

"Cheating?" Alistair didn't quite catch himself, and the mage went off on another tear about how he was not playing the game properly. Frustrated, glancing at his companions, the ex-templar merely waved his hands at the man, and motioned for the others to follow him, away from the crazy old man and his littered campsite.

Leliana cast one last look at the gallivanting mad man and then followed her companions away.

"Should we really have just…left him like that?" the Orlesian bard asked, concern heavy in her sweet, lilting voice.

Morrigan paused, turning toward the other woman. "He has been living thusly for some years, Leliana," she said quietly, unexpectedly soothingly. "He shall be well enough. Perhaps better once we are well away from his site, no doubt."

The Sten walked by the pair, disapproval in his lavender eyes for their pause. Frowning at his back, the women resumed their walk, following after the two men.

"How can you be so certain, Morrigan?" Leliana asked. She could not shake the concern for the old man. He needed company, food, a bath, clean clothing. She did not feel right in leaving him to his own devices.

Sighing softly, Morrigan bowed her head slightly, remaining silent for some time. Leliana did not say anything, recognizing the witch's need to collect her thoughts, to decide just how much she was going to share. The bard was patient; she had recognized some time ago that Morrigan was unused to companionship, and had very little knowledge by way of social graces. Between Adela and Leliana, Morrigan had started sharing some knowledge of her previous life. But, each moment of sharing was accompanied by many times as much withdrawing. And so the bard merely continued to walk beside the silent witch, allowing her thoughts to gather. She noticed Alistair glance back at the pair of them a few times, and, with a smile, she assured him all was right. With a nod, he would turn his face forward. The final time he had done so, Leliana saw the look in his eyes, and realized anew just how much the young warden missed his elven commander. Sighing, deciding to do some work on her own love life at the moment, she turned a blue eye toward the witch beside her.

Seeing Morrigan struggle, Leliana tried to help push her a bit. "Was your life in the wilds terribly lonely?" she asked tentatively, keeping her eyes on the path before them, aware that Alistair and the Sten were several yards ahead, but still well in sight.

Startled, the witch raised her dark head, her yellow eyes fixed upon the serene profile of the bard. "'Tis true," she began hesitantly, as she always was when sharing her history. "Loneliness is a part of living away from civilization, I would presume," her eyes turned to the path briefly. "'Twere times when the wilds called to me, however, to help in the ease of the loneliness I felt in Flemeth's household."

Leliana merely nodded. An accomplished storyteller, the bard knew very well how to keep another on their tale. Silent, yet encouraging. Again she nodded, a small smile upon her lips as Morrigan continued.

"I can somewhat understand the mage back a ways," she continued, her eyes darting back toward the mad man's campsite, now fully out of sight. "Many were the times I felt as he must. Alone, no other than Flemeth, a mad woman in her own right, to speak with." There was a gentle shrug of her slender shoulders, a slight ruffling of the feathers adorning her left shoulder. "I would take animal form and run the wilds when the feeling of loneliness would overtake me, but," here her eyes settled upon Leliana's face, and the bard turned her bright blues to the intense yellow of her companion. "Never was the loneliness overtaken and removed."

Leliana smiled softly. "To take animal form," the bard breathed. "Must be so exciting. To run wild with the wolves, soar high above the ground as a raven," her eyes took a slightly mischievous look to them. "To terrorize as a spider!"

Morrigan chuckled slightly at that, her countenance softening even further. "Yes, indeed," she admitted. "But to talk with one who is of your own species…that has proven to be the far better gift I have thus received in this misadventure Mother set me upon."

A true smile graced the woman's face, and Leliana felt certain she had never seen anything - anyone - as beautiful. Feeling her heart pounding desperately in her chest, her breath held with a slight catch, the bard smiled warmly, putting an arm around Morrigan's shoulders. She was pleased that the witch did not seek to pull away, but seemed to move closer somewhat to the touch.

"With this group," the bard whispered smugly. "You never need fear being alone again, Morrigan." They stopped, blue eyes holding yellow. Leliana saw the uncertainly in the witch's eyes. "We are all your friends," the bard pressed, tightening her hold slightly. "I, most especially."

A plump lip caught between her lips in an unconscious imitation of the elf who led this rag tag group, Morrigan nodded, and then, with a slight awareness of how close the two of them were, ducked slightly from under the arm draped across her shoulders. Straightening her shoulders and spine, the witch smirked at the bard, and together they resumed their pace, easily catching up with the two men ahead.

DA:O

This just had to be the craziest day Alistair had ever experienced. Craziest, most tiring, and completely off the walls bonkers of a day.

And he had thought that before they arrived at the small glen and now faced a talking, walking, _rhyming _white oak.

"Hrrrrm... what manner of beast be thee that comes before this elder tree?" the massive tree rumbled, arm like branches wavering slightly as the massive creature loomed over the group.

"Ah," Alistair stuttered, completely thrown off. "I'm Alistair, a human and a Grey Warden."

Morrigan chuckled behind him, and he heard Leliana twitter somewhat at his expense. He almost could have sworn the Sten chuckled somewhat behind the group, but Alistair was not about to turn his attention from the swaying oak to check.

After several minutes of speaking with the tree, it was learned that the mad mage they had encountered earlier that day _had _stolen an acorn from the massive oak. Insisting that without it the rhyming oak would perish, the group agreed to attempt to recover it for the ancient and unusual creature. In return, the ancient oak promised assistance in gaining entrance to the Forest's core.

Before leaving, Alistair just could not resist and had to ask why the tree rhymed all its conversations.

"I do not know, why dost thou not? Thy words seem plain, a mundane lot. Perhaps a poet's soul's in me... Does that make me a poet tree?" At this the companions - even the Sten - chuckled at its reply.

And so, without so much as a grumble, the group turned back to head eastwards, to return to the crazy old man who stole an oak's acorn.

DA:O

_This is just nuts_, Alistair thought as he stared at the old mage, who was tossing roots and leaves into the air, grumbling about 'them' and how 'they' would never find him. In mid toss the mad man noticed the return of the companions, and greeted them with a scowl.

"What? What?" he whined, "Why have you returned?" His eyes narrowed. "Ah, they've sent you, didn't they? They think they've won, but I'll never reveal anything! Nothing! You hear?"

"Calm down, good sir," Leliana's soothing voice rose above the man's tirade. Snapping his attention to the lovely red head, his eyes widened slightly.

"Oh, ho!" he chuckled, stepping closer to the pretty girl, "So, they think that a pretty girl could gain my knowledge, eh?" his eyes narrowed again as he spat at Leliana. "Never!"

Deciding to take control (and save Leliana from further abuse from the mad man) Alistair took hold of the mage's arm and pulled him away from the bard. "Ho, good sir," he said, affectively regaining the mad man's attentions. Frowning slightly, knowing that a direct course of action would not work with the fellow, he asked, "Would you happen to have anything to trade?"

Here the man's eyes lit up, and he chortled with glee. "Trade? Trade, you say?" He pranced away, giggling. "Ah, I do have items to trade. Let's see," he stopped, tapping a dirty forefinger along his whiskered chin. "I have an old helmet, a book I finished reading a long time ago, and an acorn." His eyes gleamed with mischief. "What do you have to trade?"

Frowning, Alistair replied, "I have coin…" but the old man cut him off.

"Coin? Coin!" he shrieked, resuming his gallivanting. "What use have I for coin here in the Forest?" He paused, glaring at the younger man. "What else have you for trade?"

Alistair frowned, trying to perform a mental inventory of the items he had on him. They had traveled light, leaving much of the unnecessary items back at the Dalish camp. The only thing he had that the old man may find interesting was a small griffon pendant Adela had carved shortly after Ostagar. The young Warden was loath to give up such a lovely item, especially one created by Adela's hands. However, they needed to complete their mission, which was paramount to gaining entrance to the center of the Forest, where the werewolves were laired. With a heavy sigh, the young warden reached for the chain that hung for his neck, and started pulling the amulet free.

It was Leliana, who was watching his face and could only hazard a guess at the inner struggle Alistair was having, that saved the day. Pulling forth a slender book from her pack, she handed it to the male mage for his inspection.

"This, my friend, is a book of Orlesian poetry," she advised as she watched with a slight tinge of apprehension as the man's dirty hands grasped the book and started flipping through the pages.

The mage's face softened, the fine lines evening out. His eyes seemed to focus upon the words written so neatly upon the parchment of the book, and it was with near reverence that he spoke. "This…this will do quite nicely, my dear." The companions were surprised to note the near sane level his voice had taken, and Leliana gasped and smiled as the mage raised clear brown eyes to hers. "What is it you wish to trade this for?"

She asked for the acorn, and the mage gladly handed it over to her. With a final nod, the man turned from the group, settling himself down beside the cold fire pit to begin reading the treasure that had been handed to him. Giving the bard a thankful smile, Alistair turned around to lead the group back westwards to return to the ancient oak his long lost acorn.

DA:O

To say that the Ancient Oak (as the companions were now calling the sentient tree) was pleased would have been an understatement. Alistair was certain the creature would dance for joy. No, wait, it was dancing! A grin crossed the tired man's face as he watched the tree cradle the long lost acorn before tucking it in amidst the many branches and leaves that formed its haloed head. As a reward, the tree plucked a branch free of its head, passing it down to the young warden. Alistair heard Morrigan gasp behind him and he handed it back to her, thanking the tree profusely.

"I wish thee well, my mortal friend. Thou brought my sadness to an end! May the sunlight find you, thy days be long, thy winters kind, and thy roots be strong." This final was spoken with a branch hand placed over its trunk, the halo of leaves bowing in respect.

With a final word of thanks, Alistair turned to lead the group back southwards, hoping to find the Forest's center before too much more time was lost.

DA:O

Adela stared at the werewolf, who begged upon her knees for the elven warden to end her life. Despair filled the young elf's heart; she had no desire to end the life of the werewolf - whose name was Danyla and was a member of Zathrian's clan. But, she could see the former elf's suffering, and that pained her greatly.

"Please, Danyla," the elven Warden begged, grasping the claws that had once been slender elven hands. "Come back to the camp with us. We are searching for a cure…"

The elf-turned-werewolf snarled, pushing the city-born elf back. "You seek to destroy Witherfang!" she snarled, rising to her feet, towering over the tiny elf. "But, I know the truth!" The snarl turned into a yelp of pain, and, grasping her head, the werewolf fell once again to her knees. "Please end this!" she pleaded, her voice breaking with the anguish rumbling in her head, her eyes closed against the agony.

Niall stepped forward and pulled Adela back. Roland and Zevran watched the werewolf with wary eyes, blades naked in their hands, ready to deal the killing blow. Eyeing the werewolf, the mage spoke. "I can put her in a suspended state," he whispered to the elf, wincing at the look of hope that sprang to her bluest of eyes. "If we can find a place to set her where she would be safe, we can complete our mission. If what the Keeper told us is true, then with Witherfang's death, she should revert back to her normal state."

"Can you truly do this, Niall?" she asked, hope strong in her voice. The mage nodded his shaggy head, allowing a comforting smile to cross his face. "Okay," Adela said as she stepped back to Danyla.

"Danyla," she got the werewolf's attention. "We can help you," she waved toward Niall. "We can put you into a magical sleep, and, once we find the cure, you should return to your true form." Adela cocked her head to the side as she watched Danyla's head raise, a look of hope shining in those predator eyes.

"You can do that?" she asked, unconsciously echoing Adela's own questions, hope giving life to her voice. Niall nodded.

After a moment's thought, the werewolf agreed. She would first take them through the Forest's center, however, leading them to the werewolves' lair. Thanking her, the group followed the Dalish werewolf toward the center of the Forest, closer to the lair of the werewolves.

DA:O

Thanks to their werewolf guide, the group managed to penetrate to the center of the forest, and stood before the crumbling ruins of an ancient fortress. They located a hidden alcove, Niall cast his spell, placing the Dalish werewolf under a strong sleep enchantment. Assuring Adela that Danyla would not awaken until they return, or until several days had passed should they fail, Niall tucked several blankets around and over the slumbering werewolf.

Satisfied to the werewolf's safety, the elven Warden led the group into the ruins.

DA:O

The group had not traveled far into the ruins when they were accosted by a band of werewolves. These seemed more intelligent, calmer than those they had encountered in the woods. As the five took firm battle stances, they were amazed as the group of no less than a dozen werewolves parted, allowing the form of a huge, white wolf to pass between them. The intelligence of the beast shone through large, black eyes, and the creature stopped to stand directly in front of Adela. The beast was so large it stood shoulder to shoulder with the small elven warden, its dark eyes gazing deeply into Adela's blues. One of the werewolves, a large, brown specimen with several scars criss-crossing his face, moved forward, bending to one knee.

"If you would parlay," the werewolf replied in a smooth, rumbling voice, "we bid you follow us." The beast raised his head, gazing with reverence at the white wolf standing before the elf.

Behind her, she could sense the tensing of her companions. Her blue eyes left the serene black orbs of the gorgeous creature standing before her, turning to watch the werewolves blocking their entrance. Each beast stood at the ready, yet none gave off an appearance of violence or menace. They were merely awaiting her reply.

Without looking at her companions, Adela nodded her head. The werewolves turned as a one, and the white wolf took its place beside the elf, matching her stride for stride as the five companions were led deeper into the ruins.

DA:O

Alistair's group found the Forest's center, and was amazed when they were allowed to pass through undeterred. Ever wary, eyes wide and scanning the area around them, the group of four made their way through the littered courtyard of the ancient fortress, pressing forward to the crumbling ruins. They were especially anxious for any sign that Adela and her group had passed this way, but could find nothing with which to reassure themselves. Staring at the ruins with frustration, the young Warden led his fellows into the remains of a once great structure.

They were surprised at the lack of werewolf encounters. However, their passage through the crumbling ruins was not unhindered. Every corridor, every room they entered seemed teeming with undead and giant spiders. In one chamber they had found a Soul Gem containing the ancient spirit of an elven Arcane Warrior. Morrigan was fascinated with the spirit and, after conversing quietly with it, determined that they should allow the soul trapped within its rest. In exchange, the spirit imparted its arcane knowledge to the witch, giving her the knowledge to tap into the magic that would allow her - or another mage of her teaching - to use weapons and armor as a warrior. Feeling revitalized, eager to test her knew knowledge, Morrigan placed the gem upon a nearby altar, setting it into an impression upon its surface. With a twist, the gem shattered, releasing the spirit and allowing it to find its final rest.

It was the encounter with the small dragon that nearly sent the group racing back out of the ruins. It wasn't the dragon so much as the many firetraps set haphazardly upon the floor that caused the greatest consternation for the companions. Remarkably, the dragon herself was easily vanquished…once Leliana had opportunity to disable the traps.

A hole in the far wall connected the entrance of the ruins to the main, central portion. More undead, more spiders, but still no werewolves. The companions were beginning to believe that they were in the wrong area. Shouldn't they have encountered at least one of the ravening beasts if they had invaded their home?

Deciding they had wasted enough time, the companions decided they needed to turn around and head back out of the ruins. This was obviously not where they needed to be.

DA:O

They were deep underground. Of that, Adela was certain. Her friends warily watched each of the exits, sizing up their werewolf opponents should the parlay she had agreed to turn into a heated battle. Niall, as was his habit, pressed himself closer to the elven Warden. She could feel his defensive magic crackling, pulling her into his orbit. She watched, fascinated, as the huge white wolf's form changed, growing taller, slender, bipedal, and forming into the curves and lines of a beautiful human-like woman. Human-like, save for those penetrating black eyes and twigs and roots encircling most of her body and limbs.

In an eerie voice of whispers and shadows, winds and echoes, the creature before them introduced herself as the Lady of the Forest, a spirit of the woods. Gatekeeper, the werewolf that had offered them the parlay, explained that it was she that had taken in the werewolves, offering them something other than violence and a near insensitive existence. When Zevran pointed out that many of the werewolves they had encountered seemed brainless, vicious animals, Swiftrunner, the obvious leader of the lycanthropes, explained that those who dwelled on the outskirts of the Forest had fallen ill. It was when the illness had struck that their efforts to contact Zathrian in hopes of ending the curse had redoubled, creating the need to ambush them and infect as many of the Dalish as possible.

This confused Adela. "Why would you need to contact Zathrian regarding this curse?" she asked.

The Lady bowed her dark head, her eyes glittering beneath long lashes. "It was Zathrian who had created the curse those centuries before," she explained in that otherworldly voice of hers.

Swiftrunner stepped forward. "Centuries ago, this part of the Forest was inhabited by humans." he lifted his shaggy head to peer squarely into Adela's eyes. "When Zathrian's clan had traveled in these parts, the humans hunted them. During one of these hunts, they had captured Zathrian's young son and daughter." the werewolf paused, placing a great clawed hand to his forehead. When he spoke again, there was no mistaking the pain and anguish in his voice. "The boy they killed, after torturing him." The werewolves around their leader bowed their heads, growling at their own history. "The girl, they raped, left for dead." One werewolf in the back raised his head to howl. The others, Gatekeeper and Swiftrunner included, bowed their heads, eyes closed tight.

The Lady stepped in to finish. "Zathrian and his clan found the children. The boy they buried not far from where this ruin stands. The girl," her own voice stumbled a bit as she recalled that painful part. "found herself pregnant with a human's get. She killed herself."

"And so Zathrian created the curse for vengeance," Adela put in, hoping to forestall more of the painful history for these suddenly gentle seeming creatures.

"He bound a mischievous spirit with the soul of a great wolf," the forest spirit explained. "And set it loose against the human settlements of the forest. _All _of the human settlements." Her dark eyes narrowed. "The humans fled. Those who were afflicted with the curse remained. These that stand before you are their progeny."

"The white wolf was Witherfang, wasn't it?" Niall asked quietly. The Lady nodded her head. "And so you are the spirit bound to Witherfang," the mage concluded.

"In a way, yes," The Lady agreed. "Witherfang and I are now bound to one another. Our own previous temperaments have bonded, flowing into one another until our personalities cannot be distinguished from one or the other. And we both wish an end to the curse. To see our afflicted brethren freed from this half-existence they have been forced into."

"By sheer accident of birth," Zevran muttered, his tawny eyes darkened with pity for the plight of these creatures.

"So, what can be done?" Adela asked, trying to push for a resolution.

"Only one thing must occur." The Lady lifted her head. "Zathrian must end the curse. Only he can do so. Once that is done, these poor creatures will assume the forms they were meant to be born to - those of human. Those elves afflicted will resume their natural forms." The Lady's eyes hardened, her face stern. "It is the only way. Otherwise, Zathrian's people will either transform or die. And these creatures will continue to harangue them until death."

Her own features resolved, Adela declared. "Then we will get Zathrian and make him remove the curse." With those words, she turned on her heal, and headed back the way they had come from. Their own strides telling the elf they agreed with her decision, the others followed after.

DA:O

Alistair was surprised when he spotted Zathrian rounding the bend just into the fortress's courtyard. The group had been exploring the area, trying to find another entrance or building where the werewolves' lair would be. He noted that the Keeper's ageless face wore an expression of confusion as well.

"Zathrian," the human warden greeted as he approached the elder elf. The Keeper bowed his head slightly.

"May I ask why you are out here and not within the ruins?" the elven Keeper asked, his voice low, tone condescending.

"Quite honestly," Alistair admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a gauntleted hand, "we're not certain that we're where we're supposed to be." He pointedly ignored Leliana's giggle at his statement.

The Keeper shook his head. "You are, indeed, where the beasts lair," he advised, frowning, looking around. "Where is the rest of your party?"

Alistair shrugged, trying to keep a rein over his growing concern for Adela and the others. "We managed to break through the barrier with the aid of an Ancient Oak," he advised the Keeper as Morrigan pulled free the staff the rhyming oak had given them. With interest, the elven mage took the staff from the witch as Alistair continued. "But, we haven't seen any indication that the others have arrived here."

The frown upon Zathrian's face deepened. "They have been here, Warden," he advised as he turned around and started walking back toward the barrier mists. Closing his eyes, he concentrated. With a short sigh, he turned back, handing the staff to the witch.

"Your staff did not cause the barrier to fall," he stated, tapping a long tapered finger upon his chin. "It had been down when you arrived."

"How can you tell?" the ex-templar asked, frowning.

"There are certain…signatures that magical items bear. The signature that felled the barrier does not match the one of the staff." His frown deepened into a scowl. "It was the magic of the lycanthropic curse that caused the barrier to drop. I believe your fellow Warden was with the werewolf that caused it to fall."

"So that means, Adela and the others are here somewhere!" Alistair exclaimed, swinging himself about to stare into the dark shadows surrounding the ruins.

"Indeed," the Keeper agreed. "Let us go within. Perhaps we will find your wayward companions and sort out the circumstances of their entry herein."

DA:O

It was in the main entry chamber when Adela and her group reunited with Alistair and the others. Adela eyed Zathrian with something close to suspicion, and the Keeper did not hide his own disdain for the city born elf. Pulling Alistair aside, Adela quietly explained to her second her conversation with the werewolves and the Lady. The human warden let his breath out in a long, low whistle, but agreed with her wholeheartedly that they obviously did not have the entire story. An agreement reached, the two wardens informed their companions and the Dalish Keeper that they would return to the werewolves and the Lady to discuss their options. The tone made it painfully clear to Zathrian that they would brook no argument from him.

DA:O

She could not believe it. They had managed to convince Zathrian to end the curse without a fight. Adela was somewhat surprised, however, when she realized she was saddened that both Zathrian and the Lady would need to give up their existences in order to save those afflicted by the curse. She had found the Dalish Keeper to be sanctimonious and as bigoted as any human she had ever met. Yet, while she understood his pain, his desire for revenge was clearly beyond her. It was the Lady she felt most compassionate for. She had obviously taken her role in the corruption quite strongly and had sought any and all means to make amends for her part in the curse, however unwilling that part may have been.

As the final shreds of life evaporated from the Dalish mage and the forest spirit, the werewolves before them transformed, taking on the human forms they should have been born to. Adela was a little surprised to note several elves in the back of the group, confirming that many from the clan had been affected. Swiftrunner and Gatekeeper each gave their personal thanks to the elven warden, deciding to leave the forest and form their own community. They felt it wise to get as far from the Dalish as possible.

So, leading a small band of renewed elves, the group left the ruins.

They found Danyla sitting upon the ground near where they had left her, once again restored to her true elven form, her lovely, tattooed face beaming with renewed health. When she spotted Adela, she leaped to her feet, pulling the younger woman into a tight embrace, thanking her for her life and those of her clan. Smiling, the elven warden returned the Dalish hunter's hug. Danyla then went to each member of Adela's group, giving them a hug (or, in the case of Hafter a pat on the head). She then turned to Alistair and his party and bowed her thanks to them for their part in ending the curse.

As the Forest no longer strove to work against them, the journey back to the Dalish encampment took far less time than it had in reaching the forest's center. It was to a relieved Lanaya that the group returned to. As the new Keeper, Lanaya officially pronounced that not only would her clan assist against the Blight, but any others she could contact would offer their aid as well. The cheerful young Keeper pulled Adela aside, promising to send a messenger to her mother's clan and offering a formal introduction once they had gathered. Smiling, thanking her profusely, Adela turned back to her party.

Danyla reunited with her husband, who was flabbergasted by the sight of his beautiful wife. To Varathorn Adela gave the ironbark she had found in the forest, refusing any kind of a reward, insisting that every piece be put to use for the armament of the Dalish warriors, although she did ask for permission to trade with him. The Dalish artisan readily agreed. The master craftsman watched as the elf studied many of his crafts.

"You are a craftswoman yourself," the Dalish remarked. Adela nodded, pulling from her pouch the carving she had been working on for Roland. The craftsman of the Dales ran experienced fingers over the relief, smiling and nodding at the quality of the work. "You are quite talented," he praised, smiling as the girl before him blushed. "Perhaps, once the Blight has been taken care of, you would do me the honor of allowing me to train you in the working of ironbark?"

Gasping her surprise, the young elf gave the elder a firm hug, declaring she would be the honored one. Grinning at her enthusiasm, Varathorn turned back to his bench, running his hands over the ironbark the elven Warden had acquired for him.

DA:O

After all errands had been completed, Adela and her fellows set up their camp within the Dalish encampment. As the day turned towards dusk, Alistair, dressed comfortably in a tunic and breeches, searched out his friend, finding her staring at the majestic white deer-like animals grazing peacefully within an open pen. He noted that the pouch and wooden case she carried her art supplies in sat upon the ground beside her.

"Hallas," the elf said as the human warden sat down next to her. "I had never hoped to see one in life," the elf said, her eyes never leaving the beautiful creatures. "I feel so very blessed to be able to witness their grace and beauty."

Alistair watched as an almost childlike expression of joy crossed the elf's pretty face. Smiling, he bent near, his breath tickling her delicately pointed ear as he whispered, "I know exactly what you mean."

Surprised, blinking, the elf turned towards the young man, suddenly aware of just how close he sat and how close his face was to hers. With a soft gasp, she pulled back, her eyes turning back to watch the hallas as they pranced about their pen.

A gentle smile crossed Alistair's lips as he bent his head down, his lips lightly brushing against hers, then pulled back to look into her face. Adela sighed at the touch and at his release, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. His own heart beating strongly in his chest, he again bent down and gently covered her mouth with his, his tongue sweeping out, lightly brushing her lips, encouraging them to open to him. Deepening the kiss, he brought one hand behind her head, the other arm sloping over her shoulder and down her back. He marveled at how delicate she felt in his arms, how she tasted of mint and honey, her smell of sweet fern. The lips beneath his opened slightly, and began to return pressure, assuring him he had not gone too far, that this woman he had come to care so much for had some feelings for him. But, he could still sense her hesitancy, so he pursued further, his tongue seeking deeper admittance to her mouth, his hold on her tightening and seeking to pull her yet further into his body.

Then, with a sigh, Adela drew back, away from his lips, pushing lightly on his chest. Reluctantly, he released her, gazing down into her down turned face, watching as she bit her lower lip. Her face was flushed, an attractive pink touched her cheeks, chin and the very tips of her ears. He gently brushed at the one of those tips, peeking out from the mass of blonde hair she had left loose that evening. She swallowed, and then looked up into his face, a shy smile upon her lips.

"I missed you," the young warden admitted, smiling as she looked up into his face. "And, you were just sitting here, looking so angelic. I found myself unable to resist." He smiled hopefully at her. "Am I forgiven?"

Giggling slightly, the elven lass nodded her blond head. "Forgiven, Alistair." She was biting her lower lip, her eyes twinkling. "I missed you, too."

A goofy grin crossing his face, Alistair placed an arm around Adela, pulling her close. He nearly shouted for joy when he felt her head rest easily and comfortably against his shoulder. Tomorrow they would need to resume their trek to continue their search for the Sacred Ashes. Tonight, Alistair was content to sit with the woman he loved as they watched the elven mounts romp about the pen.


	27. Chapter 27

_Okay, let's get this out of the way: It is my greatest wish that I owned everything pertaining to Dragon Age. Unfortunately, such is not my lot in life. It all belongs to BioWare. *sighs* So, there you have it. All that is mine really is just Adela and this storyline._

_Thanks to everyone for reading, alerting, favoriting and, especially, reviewing: mutive, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Biff McLaughlin._

_This is a very short chapter. I didn't think that this scene should be included with any other, but at least the next chapter branches from this. It's a naughty dream…ahm… NSFW…first time writing something so…well, sexy (ha! I hope that its sexy)._

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 27_

Adela looked over at the peaceful scene, smiling as she recognized the area she found herself in. Although she had never visited Loghain's teyrnir, she recognized it from his descriptions and from books she had read.

Standing atop a rolling hillock, she could see small farms dotting the landscape, giving way to the great forests of oak and other hardwoods that bordered the southernmost teyrnir of Gwaren. Turning to the west, she could see the small harbor the encircled part of the town that gave the teyrnir its name.

She smoothed her hands over the silk of her dress, fingering the delicate material lightly with long fingers. She missed the small niceties of not living one's life from a back pack: the frequent hot baths, being able to wear dresses and not always being prepared for battle at every moment; not having to worry about where the next meal would come from or if those that she cared for would be ambushed and slaughtered by darkspawn, bandits or assassins at every turn. With a sigh she shielded her eyes with one hand, glanced up at the sunny sky.

She never knew where her dreams would place her, but this was a different scenery altogether. Its location made her wonder if she would be visiting her usual dreamtime companion.

A smirk crossed her face as she stepped lightly over the ground, her feet bare, the grass tickling the soles of her feet. She had long ceased being amazed at the intensity of her dreams, of just how real they felt. While they traveled in the Brecilian Forests, these dreams had become more frequent and astonishing vivid - she could feel every breeze as it swept over her skin and through her hair, the coolness of water on her fingertips; she could smell every odor, taste any taste. She wondered if, once they left the confines of the mysterious, ancient forest, if those dreams would cease in their frequency.

Well, until they encountered another veil thinned area.

Warm breezes gusted through her long hair, hanging loose down her back, causing it to dance lightly about her shoulders. Standing upon the summit of the hillock, she gazed about her. Her attention turned to the ground, her brow furrowing with concentration. A blanket appeared and she grinned as she settled upon it, lying back with her arms crossed under her head as she closed her eyes to enjoy the quiet and gentle breeze.

A familiar voice, low and rumbling, came to her ears, and she opened her eyes, gazing up at the intruder. "I was wondering if you were going to make an appearance," Loghain grumbled, his eyes hard, his mouth a firm line of irritation.

Smiling up at him, the elven woman pushed herself into a seated position. "Really?" she asked, brushing the skirts of her dress. "Maybe it is yourself that is making the appearance." She tilted her head at him. "After all, this is my dream."

Loghain snorted at the girl as he moved to block the sunlight from her face. "Do you often dream of Gwaren?" he asked, with the barest hint of amusement in his dry voice.

Shrugging, Adela replied, "I don't normally pick where my dreams are set," she replied, frowning up at him. "And you are blocking my sunlight." She waved a small hand. "Either sit down or leave, Loghain. I am trying to enjoy whatever moments of peace I can find."

A scowl threatened to form upon his face, and Adela was certain that Loghain would simply leave her in peace. She was somewhat surprised, pleasantly so, when, with a snort, he settled himself down upon the blanket, one leg bent at the knee with the other straight in front of him, an arm resting upon the bent knee. She quirked a brow at him, and he mirrored the gesture.

"Hmmm," the elf hummed, "I would have thought you would leave."

"Why ever for?" the Teyrn asked, frowning deeply. "And where would I go?"

There was a shrug of one lithe shoulder. "Back to your room, I would think," she smirked up at the taller human. "I figured that was where you existed, after all."

"I _was _in my room," Loghain replied, a bit of irritation bleeding into his voice. "But then I found myself here," he swept one large hand over the scene of the hillock and valley. "Must be your doing, I suppose."

Grinning at him, the elf responded with a hint of mischief in her voice. "Must be."

Silence took over, and Adela bent her knees and rested her head upon her crossed arms, her eyes closed. Loghain sat, watching the young elf. She could feel those penetrating eyes upon her. With a soft sigh, she lifted her head to look at the dream version of the man she had known.

"What?" she asked, trying to hide the slight irritation she felt at his brooding presence.

A black brow quirked upwards at the irritation he heard in her soft voice. "I'm wondering why it is that you have not asked about…" he faltered here, seeming unsure how to proceed.

"About what?" she asked, laying her head upon her arms once again, unconcerned with seeming rude to this apparition. Loghain shifted on the blanket, and she looked up to see him very close to her, his ice blue eyes fixed upon her face.

"The kiss, you foolish chit," he grumbled, his scowl deepening. "And the talk that never occurred."

She blinked rapidly at the man. The kiss they had shared in Loghain's tent back at Ostagar sometimes haunted her dreams, and she often mourned the lost opportunity to discuss her feelings with the man. She had thought she had put that behind her, however, once she accepted the fact that Loghain had not been the man she had thought he was. Once she began to realize and accept that her feelings for another were growing.

But, this was a dream, and no true answers would ever be found therein. No consequences to answer for. So, she decided to take advantage and speak her thoughts, safe that there would be no cost, no awkwardness to endure afterwards.

Leaning back on her elbows, her legs straightening out, she tilted her head coquettishly. She was surprised when she noticed the slight darkening of Loghain's pale blue eyes as they skimmed over her form.

"Not that I've had much experience," the elf began, her heart skipping a beat when those eyes settled upon her face. "But that kiss we shared in your tent was perhaps the most wondrous kiss I have ever, or will ever, experience." Despite the knowledge this was a mere dream, Adela could feel her face heat up at that admission.

The throat muscles of Loghain's neck worked themselves, and he managed to ask, "And the discussion that never was?"

"How would that have gone?" Adela asked back, frowning, closing her eyes. "I used to dream that during that conversation you would declare your love for me." The frown deepened and her eyes opened. "But, that was a silly girlish dream, which could never and would never come true." She shrugged again. "That dream nearly cost me when I was trapped in the Fade several months ago, before I learned how to control the environment of the Fade." She opened her eyes, looking hard into Loghain's unreadable face. "You called me a foolish chit. Perhaps I was. I can no longer afford such silliness." Pulling herself up, she rose, walking away from Loghain, her back to him.

The elf stood there for a moment before she heard the man behind her rise. She could feel the heat from his body as he stood behind her. Her pulse quickened when he placed his hands upon her shoulders, pulling her against him, his face bent to the top of her head. "Why do you wear that dress whenever you come to me in the dreams?" he asked, his voice muffled by her hair.

Her heart beat hard and fast, and she found herself pressing against the solid muscle of his body. Moving her head, she looked up into his face. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "I think I just want to hold onto some part of what my life was before Vaughan, before the Blight became such a defining factor of my life." She turned around, his hands remaining on her shoulders, and she let herself raise a hand to his finely sculpted face.

Icy blue eyes warmed as they closed, and she felt Loghain press his face firmly into her hand. The hands upon her shoulders shifted, moving down her back, pulling her closer to him. Loghain's eyes opened, and he brought his face down, his mouth slanting over her own, covering it with heated passion. Raising her arms, she slipped them about his neck, twisting her long fingers into the silken mass of his hair as the man pulled her up into his arms, holding her slender body against his own, his hands running down her back, to the base of her buttocks. The kiss intensified, and she opened her mouth, slipping her tongue out, sweeping over Loghain's lips, tasting him. Growling with passion, Loghain swept her into his arms, carrying her back to the blanket, where he gently laid her down. Their kisses increased in passion and heat, and Loghain settled himself just slightly over the side of her.

One large, calloused hand slipped over her breast, gently rubbing it through the silken material of her dress. Adela moaned in his mouth, and he increased the attention to her breast, his fingers circling over the hardened nipple. The elf raised her hips, pressing them against the human's, and she felt the evidence of his arousal though the linen trousers he wore. Breaking the kiss, she stared up into Loghain's face, feeling the heat of her lips tingling, her cheeks flushed with heat.

One of Loghain's hands slipped behind her, raising her slightly as he unlaced the back of her dress. She shivered as his hand caressed the naked skin of her back before the hand raised to her shoulder, pulling the dress down, exposing her breasts to him. She fought against the feeling of embarrassed shyness. This was her dream, after all. This was something she had wondered about many times. That it felt so real now made her shiver in anticipation.

Loghain resumed kissing the young woman, kissing lightly along her lips, her high cheekbones, and down her jaw. His tongue slipped out to taste the naked skin of her neck, and the elf moaned deeper, pressing her body against him again as his fingers resumed their teasing of her breasts, pinching at the already taut pink nipples. Licking and kissing his way down the slender column of her neck and throat, teeth scraped along her collar bone before he took one hardened nipple into his mouth, his tongue lavishing gentle attention around the areola, his lips caressing the soft flesh of her small, rounded breast.

A tight warmth grew in her lower belly, spreading downwards, and she could feel the moisture form between her legs. Surprising herself with the passion she felt, Adela moaned loudly, pulling her hands up to unlace her lover's tunic. Lifting his face from her, Loghain assisted in removing the shirt, tossing it away as he moved back to tease her breast with tongue, lips and teeth.

The growl of appreciation that rose in his throat pleased the elf as her hands roamed down his body to rub against the hard outline of his arousal. She cried out, her back arching, pressing her hips firmer into his own, as his teeth bit down on one sensitive nipple then lightly sucked on it, lathing it with his tongue, before applying the same attention to the other. Almost of its own volition, her body ground itself against the man's clothed erection, pressing her groin against his with abandon.

With a growl, Loghain rose, roughly pulling the dress free from her hips, leaving her clothed only in her smallclothes. She could feel her wetness soak through her underclothes, feel the heat from Loghain's stare at he took in her flushed body. Rising, she knelt before him, exploring his torso with hands, lips, teeth and tongue. He groaned under the ministrations, capturing her hands and bringing them to laces of his trousers. As her fingers lightly brushed against his erection, he moaned, leaning his head down to her ear, lightly nipping at the sensitive lobe, licking his way to the delicate tip. Her fingers, usually so agile and adept, fumbled with the lacings of his pants as she cried out, arching her body as a new wave of pleasure swept over her, pressing her naked breasts to his well muscled chest. She could feel his heartbeat, strong, fast, unsteady, as it matched her own.

Finally undoing the stubborn laces, Adela pulled the trousers past Loghain's slender hips, pushing them down his thighs, freeing his erect manhood. She gasped at the sight of it and had a moment's worry of just what she was to do with that. The man gave her no more time for thought as he swept her up, and back down onto her back, kicking his pants off the rest of the way. Quickly, he untied the lacings holding her small clothes together, and then pulled them free of her body, leaving her naked before him.

Trembling with passion and a little fear, Adela raised her darkened eyes to Loghain. Her heart beat rapidly and unsteadily, echoing in her head, and she bit down on her swollen lower lip. Loghain's hands brushed lightly over her body, resting upon her hips. He looked her in the eyes, leaning down to capture her lips with his. As he pulled away, his hands resumed their exploration of her slender body. "I love you, Adela," he whispered hoarsely to her, his pale blue eyes searching her face, but she could not tell what he was looking for.

Taking in a deep breath, she raised a hand back to his face, tracing over his brow, cheekbones, and then across his lips. "I love you, too, Loghain," she whispered with passionate fervor, knowing that this was just a dream, something she had yearned for and knew she could never have, that she could awaken, leaving behind her dream lover. Raising her face she captured his lips with her own.

Loghain pressed her back down, his mouth trailing kisses down her face and neck, between her breasts, to her stomach and lower. She gasped loudly as he made his way through the damp golden curls over her womanhood, his tongue flicking her swollen nub, his hands on each hip. As his tongue found her spot, her hips jerked upwards, a cry escaping her lips. He eased her thighs apart further, his head dipping lower as his tongue traced over her folds. A hiss breathed out from between her lips, expanding into a cry as his tongue ceased the teasing of her nub and folds, and plunged deeply into her core. His large hands encircled her bottom, holding her in place as he worked tongue and mouth onto her most sensitive area, riding out her bucking and thrusts. Grasping her breasts, plucking at her sensitive buds, she arched her back, pleading words and crying out his name as he continued to bring her to completion.

She felt his tongue pull out of her, lapping at her in deep, long strokes as his mouth worked at her nub once more. Her body relaxed somewhat, her breaths coming in panting gasps. Smiling, wiping her juices from his face, Loghain kissed his way back up her body, stopping at her lips, pushing his tongue into her mouth. She tasted the tanginess of her own juices and found herself strangely aroused by that. Pressing his legs between hers, he pushed her legs further apart as he rested at the junction of her thighs.

Gazing down at her, Loghain again said, "I love you," and kissed her again. Her hands rose to travel along his strong, broad shoulders. She could feel the head of his erection at her entrance, and she felt her body stiffen somewhat. There was a look of concern upon Loghain's face, but she smiled up at him, kissing him passionately, her tongue slipping into his willing mouth. Reaching down, she grasped him in her hand, her thumb rubbing up the hard length of him, smiling into his mouth as he moaned at her touch. Lifting her hips, she helped to guide him to her entrance, pressing her mouth against his harder. She felt a hand settle along her lower back, and, in one quick thrust, Loghain buried himself deeply into the slender elf.

A cry rose from her lips, her head tossed back as her back arched. Loghain began thrusting into her slowly, his lips and teeth kissing and nipping her jaw line and lips, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, teasing her tongue as his thrusts grew in urgency and speed. Moaning together, they whispered each other's names, promises of love tumbling from kiss swollen lips. Soon, words were lost as they were driven deeper into a passionate frenzy, Loghain's hips pushing harder into Adela's as she rose to meet each thrust with her own as he invaded deeper into her body. With a growl, Loghain's body tensed as he released his seed deeply into Adela's body. She gasped, pushing herself sharply against him as she met her own climax, her body shuddering against his, her sex tightening along his length.

Breathing heavily, Loghain pulled himself free of Adela, moving off her as not to crush her smaller body beneath his. Her lips were parted slightly, her body flushed and sweaty from their exertions. He brushed a hand along her face, down her chest, to rest upon her belly, fingers splayed out possessively as he gazed down upon her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she grinned up at him. "This may be just a dream," she murmured to him as he bent down to kiss her. "But I do love you."

Loghain murmured into her mouth, pulling back. A slight frown formed on his face as he brushed a roughened hand gently over her face. Lying beside her, he pulled her flush against him, staring down into her beautiful face. "I miss you, Adela," he admitted, tucking her further against and under him, his chin resting on top of her head, her small hands roaming over his chest and side. She could not see his face, but she could hear the regret and dismay in his voice. Leaning forward, she kissed his broad chest, the springy black curls tickling her nose. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him closely and fiercely, feeling tears prickling at her eyes. Before the setting and Loghain vanished, she murmured. "I miss you, too, Loghain."


	28. Chapter 28

_Thank you all for the wonderful response to the previous chapter! I've seen a lot more favorites and alerts come up. And, as always, I so very much appreciate your reviews: Forestnymphe, CCBug, Arsinoe de Blassenville, zevgirl, mutive._

_The last chapter was rather pivotal - subtly so, I believe. You will see why in this and forthcoming chapters. _

_Oh, and a little honor paid to Immort's mod for Ser Gilmore. Kudos to anyone who can guess what it is._

_Oh, yeah, and you all know that I don't own any of this. It's all BioWare's baby. So I'll just sit in my corner, and bemoan my fate to just write my own version. _

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 28_

He lurched up, pulling himself into a seated position. Heart beat strong and fast, and sweat ran down his neck and back. Panting as though from heavy exertion, Loghain brought a hard hand to his face, covering his eyes as he sought to regain his senses. A grimace formed upon his face as he realized the damp mess he had made of his trousers.

He rose from the bed, pulling his soaked clothing from his body as he walked to the water basin across the room. He tossed his soiled clothing to the floor, scowling down at them. He dipped his hands into the basin, and was surprised to find the water cold - icy. A quick glance toward the fireplace told him what he had suspected - the fire was out.

Frowning, he splashed the cold water onto his face, then placed his hands on either side of the bowl, glaring down into the swirling depths of the basin as water dripped from his regal nose. He had such dreams in the past, obviously, but never had he felt so satisfied afterwards, almost the afterglow of lovemaking warm. Usually, he had awoken feeling bereft, needing, anguished and ashamed. He felt none of that now; it almost felt as though he had actually been with her, felt her small, calloused hands upon his body, touched the silky lengths of her hair. He still could feel her body pressed against him, her warmth and softness; smell the sweet fern she used for her hair; her warm, full lips upon his body; the taste of her...with a snarl, he shook himself from his reverie, finished his wash and claimed clean clothing from the nearby wardrobe to cover his body.

He turned toward the table, expecting a repast to have been set, as always had been. He was surprised to find the table bare.

A thoughtful frown formed between his brow, and he settled down onto one of the wooden chairs, glaring at the empty expanse of wood. Normally, whenever he awoken from his Fade prison, a fire would be blazing, hot water provided for bathing, and a hot, complete meal awaiting him. Now, his room was cold, with no food provided.

That meant that his captor had not expected him to awaken as of yet.

With a start, he pushed himself from his seat, advancing upon the door. Of course it was locked. Did he truly think someone as intelligent and thoughtful as Arawn would overlook the slightest possibility of Loghain awaking ahead of schedule?

He resumed his seat, his eyes sharp in thought. So why had he awakened earlier than planned? He could only think it was the dream, so intense with emotion, his regrets and desires overtaking him…he frowned. He wished he understood magic and blood magic in any other terms other than 'fear' (and Loghain was one to admit that he feared magic). Could it possibly be that the intensity of his emotions - lust, desire, regret, love - allowed his body to overcome the hold the blood mage had over him? Or could it merely be coincidence that the dream occurred and somehow, for some reason, Arawn's own concentration had faltered?

Glancing back at the bed, Loghain's mind sifted through every possibility; always coming back to rest that it was the intensity of his emotions - of seeing her, of being with her - that had broken down the barrier between his spirit and body. Allowing him to once again regain control over himself. He had so long tried to deny just how much he had cared for - no, loved - the elven woman. But, perhaps it was those very same emotions he held for her that was the key to breaking the mage's hold for good.

For a man who had spent most of his life keeping his emotions in check, hidden away from all peering eyes and unwelcome intrusions being able to call upon those very same emotions would prove…challenging.

His head bowed slightly. And, of course, he was only dealing with the memory of a woman who had perished with the rest of her order at Ostagar. Was he doing her memory a disservice by using her in such a fashion? He shook his head, unable to find any answer the would satisfy both his longing for her and his guilt over even considering using her memory in such a manner.

Expelling a sharp gust of breath, the Teyrn rose to his feet, glancing back at the door. The only thing he knew for certain would be this: Arawn would be watching him more carefully from now on.

DA:O

Adela jerked awake, jolting into an upright position. Sweat beaded down her neck, drenching the cotton nightshirt she wore. Her heart was racing, and she nearly blushed - alone as she was - at the memory of the dream of her and Loghain making love.

She brought a shaking hand up to press against her feverish forehead. With a sorrowful sigh, she brought her head down to her knees, and there, sitting in the darkness, she quietly cried as she thought of what she could never have, and the words that had never been said.

DA:O

Anora stood, staring at the man who wore Cailan's face. No, not Cailan's face: Maric's. And of the other son…Alistair, if she recalled correctly. But where Maric's face was open, friendly, this man's held an arrogant expression that seemed to be a permanent feature. The blood red eyes added to the menace of his persona.

She knew the man, but first only as a mage in the service of Howe. Now, he seemed to have free run of the palace, and had even become an advisor to her father.

Her father. She worried over him, and was at the moment fretting. So much so that she missed what Arawn was saying to her.

"Your Majesty?" The mage prompted, his voice smooth, soft, containing only soothing tones. She looked into his eyes and tried to see any humanity within their dark depths. She shuddered at the malevolence she may have imagined she saw there.

Shaking her head, she stuttered out," I…I apologize, Arawn," she reached over and gently patted his arm, then turned away from the desk. "What were you saying? Something about the Bannorn?"

Arawn nodded his blond head, his eyes scanning over the figure of the queen who stood before him, her back turned, head bowed slightly. "I am afraid that with the current situation in the Bannorn, we shan't have enough troops to continue scouring the countryside." He tilted his head. "I suggest that we pull them in from the farmlands, and concentrate the forces upon bringing the Bannorn into line," He stepped forward, his chest nearly brushing against her arm. He could feel the shudder course through her, and he quickly suppressed the self-satisfied smile that threatened to cross his lips.

"Have you discussed this with Father, yet?" Anora asked, her exhaustion betrayed in her voice as she turned to study the man before her.

Arawn bowed. "Your father has instructed that I bring matters to your attention as well as his," the mage smoothly lied. "So that you are aware of every move the regent makes on Fereldan's behalf."

Nodding, not quite believing him, but uncertain how else she should proceed, Anora instructed. "Will this not leave the farmlands defenseless against any darkspawn?"

"True," the mage conceded, "However, while the nobles continue their little war against the crown, manning the farmlands makes no sense as the rest of the country falls down around them."

Frowning, she could only nod. The only news she ever received came by the hands of Arawn, Howe, or Cauthrien. Whenever she had discussions with her father, they always seem slightly stilted, as though he was speaking from a script. With a heavy sigh, she agreed that the best course of action would be to make certain that the Bannorn placed their forces behind the Crown, especially against the darkspawn. Giving her permission to remove forces from their patrols of the countryside, forcing down the sick feeling rising in her stomach, Anora bade the mage good afternoon.

As Arawn turned to leave, she could not help but notice the slight tensing of his broad shoulders. With a quick nod, the mage stepped from the queen's chambers, turning northward toward the quarters of the Teyrn.

DA:O

Soft soled boots clapped quietly upon the marble floor with each determined step. A scowl formed on the mage's normally calm features, and he curtly ordered the guard at Loghain's door aside. Bowing respectfully, the man stepped to the side, allowing the mage to step passed. With a glare of a red eye, the bastard of Maric stepped through the threshold, into the cool quarters of the Teyrn.

Loghain sat, impassive, upon one of the wooden chairs at the dining table, his icy eyes unreadable, watching the mage as he sauntered into the room. Arawn stood before him, dressed in noble finery, a graceful golden brow raised in faint amusement, while his eyes betrayed the irritation the man obviously felt. A black brow arched upwards in a mirror image of the mage's gesture. Loghain's eyes, however, remained cold, offering nothing to the observations of the man before him.

"I see that you have awakened," the mage spoke, that soft, elegant voice of his barely reaching the older man's ears.

"Obviously," Loghain drawled out to him. He lifted that brow higher. "You seem…surprised."

Arawn frowned, giving a slight shrug of a broad shoulder. "Somewhat," he freely admitted, pulling the other chair free from the table and seating himself across from his adversary. "I had expected it some time ago, truth be told," he continued with all honesty. "I am rather astounded that it took you so long to awaken without…assistance."

"Disappointed?" came the Teryn's sardonic reply.

The mage chuckled without mirth. "Oh, hardly," the chuckle ceased, and veiled anger shone from his red, malevolent eyes. "An accident, more than likely. One that will not be repeated."

The blood mage rose to his feet as a hand slipped into his breast pocket, pulling forth a vial of blood. Loghain felt his body grow cold as he realized whose blood was contained therein, and what use it would be to one who excelled in the forbidden arts. The warrior surged to his feet, seeking to grasp the vial, but, despite being a mage, Arawn was neither weak nor slow. Growling out a spell, he flung his hand out, the currents of shocking power flowing through the older man's body, causing him to convulse and stagger to the floor. 'Tsking' at him, Arawn held the vial of blood tightly in his hand, speaking the ancient, demonic words necessary to exert control over the owner of the blood. The crackling energy ceased dancing about Loghain's twitching form, and he jerked upright to his feet, as a marionette upon taut strings. Grinning, the mage watched as the light went out behind Loghain's eyes, and the almost dead seeming face turned toward him. Once again under his control, the blood mage bade the man to follow him from his room. They had an important meeting with ambassadors of the Tevinter Imperium this day. Business matters in which only Teyrn Loghain, as Regent, could see to.

DA:O

"Halt!" came the sharp order, and the group turned to stare at the human guard standing atop the long stairway. Alistair shifted behind Adela, uncomfortable as she took a step closer to the obviously hostile man.

"Greetings, good ser," the elf replied politely, glad the others were ready to strike if need be. "We have business within Haven…"

"No you do not," the man sneered, undisguised hatred turning his lips up in a sneer. "I would have been informed if anyone was expecting…visitors."

A blond brow rose at that, and the elven Warden cast a questioning glance back to her companions. All of them seemed equally perplexed. She turned back.

"You mean that had anyone who resided within the village expected a guest, they would have told _you_?" she could not help but keep the disbelief from her voice. "Rather a…close community, eh?"

"More like closed community," the guard shot back, his behavior less and less welcoming. "We do not welcome outsiders."

"Glad it's not just us," Alistair whispered from behind her, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

Jabbing him lightly in his chest with an elbow, Adela turned back to the man. "Look," she stepped forward, not about to be bullied by a surly guard. "We know that a Brother Genetivi made his way here for research," she poked a finger at the guard, who scowled at the tiny elven woman but actually took a short step back. "All we want is to ask someone - other than the gate guard," the guard frowned at that, "if the man's been here or not." Staring the man straight in the eye, she said, "We're not going anywhere until I get to speak with someone who would actually _know_."

Her companions did well to contain any snickers, chuckles or other guffaws as normally happened whenever the diminutive woman managed to intimidate someone who was easily three times her size and thrice her temperament. There was a war of conflicting emotions and retorts obviously within the man's mind and flashing across his face. Finally, he acquiesced, suggesting she find a Father Eirick at the Chantry atop the hill. Frowning at the guard, Adela motioned with her head, and the others fell in step behind and to the side of her as they made their way through the serene little village.

"_Father _Eirick," Alistair drawled as they walked away from the surly guard.

"Seems a bit unusual, does it not?" Leliana put in as she joined the pair at the front.

"I agree," Adela replied, looking at her two Chantry experts. "I thought men could only become chanters or affirmed. I've never heard of a man as a priest."

"Neither have I," Alistair's voice rolled over her. She glanced over at him. His eyes were unusually wary, taking in everything in a most decidedly Zevran-like manner. She turned her head to her other friends, and noticed that they, too, felt the unease of the human Warden. Well, both Wardens.

The village may have seemed peaceful, however, Adela could not shake the very wrong feeling she got from the place.

First, there were no children running about playing. Oh, there was one child - a boy - chanting a very disturbing poem. When the group had approached him, he had been extremely rude, yet with none of the usual childlike fascination of seeing mages, warriors and rogues of their caliber. The child also, in a very grown up manner, advised the group that they were not welcome and that they should leave.

Blowing out a low whistle, Alistair tugged at Adela's arm, leading her and the rest of the group away from the very strange child, muttering, "Creepy." Adela found herself agreeing.

As they passed by one home, Hafter stopped in his tracks. Bowing low, his haunches raised, the great warhound let out a low, menacing growl, staring at the door to the home. The rest of the party immediately went on the alert. They had all not traveled together for so long without learning how to read each other's warning signs, even those of the dog. With a glance around, Adela stepped toward the door and tried the handle. It was unlocked. Frowning, she turned the handle, pushing the door open. Immediately the smell of decay, rank and vile, assailed her senses. Gagging slightly, she pushed the door open further and stepped into the dankness of the cabin.

The air was oppressive, but Zevran quietly closed the door behind them, so as not to alert any passersby of their presence. The cabin was small - one room, with a fireplace and cook pit against the furthest wall, a bed to their left. It was the butcher's block - complete with cutlery - that caused the shiver to creep up Adela's spine. Hafter's low growl and plaintive whine made her blood turn cold.

"Does meat bleed that much?" Alistair asked anxiously, glaring at the offending block.

"Don't be foolish," Morrigan snapped, studying the blood soaked wood with a keen eye.

"The Crows are known to make blood sacrifices," Zevran put in, patting Niall gently on the shoulder. "Blood magic is used quite often, and demons appeased in such a manner."

Adela pulled her eyes from the offending fixture, stalking around the room, her keen eyes searching, aware. Her eyes settled upon a portion of the floor, near the bed, that seemed less discolored than the rest of the rough, wooden flooring. Frowning, she gestured to Zevran, who glided across the floor to kneel beside her.

Indeed, the portion of floor the elven woman spied was a trap door. To untrained and unwary eyes, it was set, almost seamless, in the floor. With a dagger, the former Crow pried the board up, pulling it free with a 'pop'. More fetid air, reeking of more death and decay, wafted up from the floor. Zevran's tawny eyes looked up at the younger elf with concern and, with a gentle hand, he guided her away from the fissure. Knowing better than to argue with her friend, the elven Warden rose and stepped away, feeling Roland place a hand upon her shoulder. The others remained at their positions by the chopping block, aware that something unpleasant had been found. Zevran indicated a nearby torch, and Alistair took the torch from its sconce and held it aloft behind the elf. Zevran turned his head, taking in a deep breath of comparatively fresher air, and then stuck his head into the hole, the torch behind offering some light.

Bodies, hacked into pieces, lay scattered across the dirt floor beneath the house. Such was the pile that it was impossible to tell how many people had found their final rest beneath the rough building. The assassin frowned as his gaze settled upon the heraldry of Redcliffe emblazoned upon rusted shields and torn, rotted tunics.

With a shudder, the assassin, so used to death, fought back the bile that rose in his throat as he pushed himself away from the offending hole. Kicking the board back into place, he described - in as little detail as possible - what lay beneath their feet.

Adela blinked rapidly, trying to focus her blurring vision. The look upon Zevran's face unnerved her and she could see her own revulsion reflected upon her companions' faces. The stoic Qunari, standing at the furthest corner of the building, had trouble mastering his features. Even the Qunari would afford their vanquished foes a more honorable burial.

Adela led her group from the building, fully expecting to be met with hostile villagers. She was surprised when they met with no one - no hostile, out for blood murderous villagers, not the crazy child with his insane chant, even the stairway guard had vanished. The elf exchanged uneasy looks with her companions. With a gesture, she sent the Sten, Morrigan and Hafter back toward the way they entered the village. Without a word, Zevran and Leliana melted into the shadows, creeping along parallel pathways to the lake. Alistair, Niall, and Roland continued on with Adela, walking up hill, toward the center of the village.

It was quiet, far too quiet, and the elven Warden found her nerves rattling. The discovery at the small cabin had unnerved her greatly, and she feared what other horrors they were likely to stumble upon in this idyllic seeming setting. As they crested the hill, they spotted several other homes, and she noted that many of them seemed untended: grass grew tall around front doors, flowers and weeds alike shared garden beds, livestock roamed freely. Ahead stood another building, this one displaying a shingle indicating it a store. The uneasy feeling would not leave her, and the elf led her companions through the open door into the building.

The stench of death crept into the companions' collective consciousnesses, but they did well to quell the expressions of distaste from their faces. The shopkeep, an overly pale young man with pale hair and eyes, stared suspiciously at the quartet as they approached his counter. It was obvious that the stench of death was something that this man - and by extension the other villagers - were used to,. That thought, just as much as the discovery in the cabin, disturbed Adela greatly.

Roland and Alistair spoke with the man, keeping his attention on them as Adela crept through the shadows to the back room. She stifled a sharp gasp as her eyes settled upon the corpse of a young knight of Redcliffe. Her eyes narrowed, and she went to her knees, pulling the bloodied cloth from the man's face. Head bowed down as she said a prayer to the Maker to receive Ser Donall's soul. With a growl, she rose, pulling her daggers free of their sheaths. Blending into the shadows as Zevran and Leliana had taught her, the elven rogue slipped from the room, making her way until she stood, unnoticed behind the eerie shopkeep. Quietly, she brought her blades to his throat, and, with a snarl, demanded to know what was going on in the village.

Eyes widening, the man gasped out prayers of deliverance to Andraste, saying nonsensical things as 'she has arisen' and 'all will be forgiven' before lunging backwards, hoping to catch the elf off guard and loosen her grip upon him.

In her anger, Adela was hyper aware of every muscle and tendon tensing in the man's body. As he pushed against her, she pushed her blades more securely to his throat, digging in slightly to draw blood. Again she demanded answers and again he answered her with nonsense. He kicked out with a foot, hoping to drop her. As he did, the elven Warden, realizing she would get no answers, dragged her dagger across his throat, opening it in a spray of blood. With a hiss, she jumped back, allowing the body to slump the floor as his lifeblood pumped from the jugular.

Staring at the body, Adela advised the three men of her discovery. Alistair bowed his head in remembrance of the knight who had, when he was a child, been kind to him. Pledging that once they found Brother Genetivi and put the murderers of the knights to justice they would put the deceased they found to a proper rest, Adela searched the shop for any supplies they would need. Taking all healing potions and health poultices she found, as well as other necessities, the elf led her group out of the building.

Months of traveling together, fighting for every step side by side conditioned the group to each other's moves. This proved, time and time again, to be the saving grace. As it did at this time. As the four exited the shop, they were met with blade, arrow and spell as the villagers erupted from nearby buildings to attack the group.

In the distance, Adela could hear the Sten's battle cry, and could feel the entropic nature of Morrigan's magic upon the air. Believing that Zevran and Leliana, too, met with resistance, hoping they were dealing with it well, the elven Warden pulled her bow free of her shoulder, and proceeded to decimate their assailants.

Focused as she was in felling their foes, the elven archer always made certain she knew where her people were placed upon the field. Alistair always remained fairly close to the archer, moving as a great, destructive satellite to smash, slice and drop any enemy that got too close to her, while concentrating his Templar abilities toward any mage harassing them. Roland ran the field, picking out the most heavily armored foe and bringing that one down first. Niall, his magical arsenal impressive in its offensive nature, managed to take out great areas of enemies with ice, flame or energy. This time, she noted as she nocked another arrow to fly at a nearby mage, the Circle Mage was concentrating on taking out the apostate mages the village obviously sheltered.

A hiss escaped the elf's lips as she felt a blade slice into her bare forearm. Turning, she watched as a human man - slender and dressed in black leathers - emerged from the shadows, a glowing blade in hand. Instinctively, she dropped her bow, reaching for her daggers as she ducked down, shouldering him in the side to knock him backwards as she freed her weapons. Surprised, the rogue staggered slightly, enough to give the elf time to pull her blades free of their sheaths. Frowning, she brought them to bear, parrying each blow of the human, dancing around him, seeking an opening to his impressive defense. She swept down, tucking under the man's arms, swinging herself to his back. As she rose, she thrust her daggers out, cutting deeply into his sides, slicing in kidney. A scream of agony erupted from his lips, and she pulled her daggers free, watching as the black bile and blood flowed from the wounds. The rogue staggered, his life already ebbing from the wounds. With a sudden lunge, Adela swept her blades out, slicing the man's throat. She spun about, bending quickly to retrieve her bow, as the man's body fell lifeless to the ground.

She looked up in time to watch as Zevran melted from the shadows, digging and twisting his blades into the back of a nearby mage. Arrows whistled into the fray, and Adela looked up to see Leliana standing atop a rise, raining arrows down upon their foes. The Sten, Morrigan and Hafter continued to fight their way up the hill.

A battle cry from her right brought her attention to Roland, and she let fly an arrow into his assailant's back. Did he just cry out that he's the best knight in Highever? Grinning, she turned her attention to the warrior fast approaching Niall, who was deep in concentration on a spell. One, two, three arrows flew out in succession, each scoring a direct hit in the warrior's throat, chest and eye. As he toppled over, Niall finished his spell, and a group of enemy archers convulsed, twitched, and finally fell as the energy tempest took hold of them, sending shock waves through their bodies.

No more foes launched themselves at the group. The Sten and Morrigan tromped up the hill, Hafter bounding ahead of them, huffing and barking as he spied Adela. As they regrouped, Adela turned, taking in the carnage surrounding them. It seemed to her that every villager came out to apprehend - or rather, slaughter - the intruders to their village. Many of their assailants had carried weapons - swords, axes, bows - but quite a few of them were women and men dressed in peasant clothing, fighting with nothing more than a kitchen knife, a cleaver or bared fist. Relief swept through her when she realized that no children lay amongst the dead, but she could not bring up any feelings of pity or sorrow for the destruction they had wrought.

After all, these very same villagers had caused the deaths of many of Redcliffe's Knights; who knew what they had done to others innocently passing this way? What they had done to Brother Genetivi?

With a heavy sigh, the elven Warden Commander turned toward the rise behind them. With a gesture, as the first flakes of snow began to drift about them, she led her band upwards.

DA:O

Not surprising, the companions found more resistance from the remaining villagers. What was surprising was that they were attacked in the Chantry. The Father Eirick the front gate guard had warned them of was an apostate, something that Morrigan chortled about as they striped his corpse of robes, coin and other trinkets. Alistair was the first to remind the witch that they were, apparently, dealing with some kind of a cult, and obviously not a chantry sanctioned by the Divine. It made no difference; Morrigan continued with her smugness and the others just let the witch have her fun.

They found a battered, tortured yet very much alive Brother Genetivi lying in a small, hidden room. The poor man's right foot was diseased, and it was both Morrigan and Niall's opinions that it would have to be removed in order to avoid further infection. Unfortunately, neither of them was so well versed in medicinal healing and was loath to perform the act. The brother was adamant, however: despite his physical condition, he wished to journey with the companions further up the mountain and to the temple, wherein lay the Sacred Ashes. Uncertain, but not about to dismiss the man from his life's work, Adela had the Sten and Roland prepared a litter from the broken furniture contained within the chantry. Once that was done, and with instructions from Brother Genetivi, the Warden sent the Sten, Zevran, Leliana and Morrigan up the mountain as the first strike against any further hostilities.

Once the Brother was comfortably set within the litter, which was piled with blankets and pillows, Hafter was hitched to the litter, and easily pulled the old man from the chantry and up the mountain. Adela led the group, bow in hand, followed closely by Roland and Alistair. Niall took up the rear, spells of offensive nature firmly in mind.

The four ahead of their group made quick work of any cult members they encountered. So, Adela's group found their way up the mountainside easy going, despite the flurry of snow assailing them from above. They found their companions standing before a massive double door, set within the side of the mountain. With a few words, Brother Genetivi instructed Adela on the use of the puzzle key she had removed from Father Eirick's body back at the Chantry. Twisting the key, she reshaped its previously flat, octagon features into a spear shaped box. This easily fit into the locking mechanism and, with a push and a twist, the doors swung open on recently oiled hinges, barely creaking as they admitted the group within.

The doors opened into a huge, cavernous chamber. High vaulted ceilings, areas missing and emitting the gray sunshine and falling snow, arched overhead, intricately detailed walls loomed to the sides. Rubble, snow and ice now decorated the once elaborately gilt floors, and elegant fire places were strategically placed along the floors. Alcoves and doorways arched to the sides, and a great curving staircase dominated the far end of the great hall. Everyone stood, staring in awe, as the images of what the hall must have looked like in its early days came to mind.

Adela hated it; she had never liked splitting their group up. And, walking into an unknown situation made this decision even more detestable. However, she could not leave Brother Genetivi alone in this place. Whether she had left him back at the chantry or here made no difference; the group would have to be divided.

And so, reluctantly, she left the Sten, Niall and Leliana behind, with a proportionate amount of their supplies, to watch over the Brother, and deal with any of the cultists that may find their way to the temple behind them.

And so, with a final warning to be wary of elaborate and cunning traps (Alistair bit his tongue on a sarcastic response), the Warden Commander of Fereldan led her much smaller troupe deeper into the ruins of the mountainside temple.

DA:O

"You have slaughtered your way here through our sacred Temple!" the man shouted, arms flailing, face contorted with mad rage. He stopped before the elven woman, pointing a strong hand into her face. "You have killed our young, and you think you have a right to demand passage?"

"Young?" the elf asked, her voice confused, questioning. "Do you mean the dragons?"

That sent the man, huge and towering over the elf, into another rage. "The Maker's own Beloved has arisen, and you defile Her Temple, kill her children, and yet claim ignorance of your blasphemy?"

"I don't suppose you'll accept an apology?" Alistair's sarcastic comment slipped from his lips before he had time to reconsider. Zevran smirked at the bold comment; Adela composed her features but she was not impressed. Sarcasm wasn't always the best approach when dealing with mad men. Religious zealots. Cultists. Crazy people. That guy right there ranting and raving.

The man, who had introduced himself as Father Kolgrim, eyed the younger man with disdain. "You mock me, do you?" he demanded, taking a step closer to the Warden. Alistair did not flinch, did not take a single step back, but stood bravely in the face of the zealot's rage. Roland placed a hand to the pommel of his blade, and Zevran backed away a bit, giving himself room to maneuver. Morrigan merely glared at the man, leaning almost casually upon her staff, watching for any indication he would strike.

Kolgrim stepped away from Alistair, his eyes once more going to the obvious leader of the mismatched group.

"Why have you come here?" he demanded, crossing his arms angrily to his chest. The cultists who stood to the side and behind him mirrored his stance.

Adela paused, debating about whether to tell this man about their quest. Her eyes skimmed over the forms of his followers. She counted five warriors and at least two mages that could be seen. Given the nature of the mountainside chamber they found themselves in, it was likely more foes could easily be hidden amidst the rubble and obstacles in the vast, cavernous chamber.

"We seek out the Urn of Sacred Ashes," she intoned, ignoring the uncomfortable shifting of her fellows behind her. She watched as conflicting emotions and thoughts paraded themselves across Kolgrim's bearded features.

"Perhaps," he said, the venom gone from his gravelly voice, "there is a way for you to make up for your desecration of our Temple."

A blond brow jerked up. "Why so willing to be cooperative?" Zevran asked from the back of the group, echoing Adela's own incredulity.

Ignoring the assassin, his attention fully upon the elven woman before him, Kolgrim stepped closer, religious zeal hot in his eyes. "Perhaps I believe in second chances," his voice was quieter now as his sight was fixed solely upon Adela. "Perhaps Her greatest enemy can become Her greatest champion!"

Unease at those words set in. "How so, exactly?" Adela asked, her eyes narrowing. She did not like the way Kolgrim was studying her. She heard Roland and Alistair shift behind her, their armor and weapons rattling slightly with their movements. Apparently, they, too, had noticed the interest with which the human was now regarding the elf.

"As it stands, the Blessed Andraste cannot realize her true power while the Ashes remain," he began pacing in front of the group, and missed the speculative glances Adela and Alistair exchanged. "While they remain, our Beloved cannot obtain her full glory!" He raised his arms at this and the other cultists, quiet until now, murmured prayers to their risen Beloved. He turned back to the group.

"So why do you need me?" Adela asked, hands on her hips, tired of this tirade. _Either attack us or don't!_ she almost screamed. "Why haven't you just sent some of your goo…followers up the hill and taken them?"

A condescending sneer crossed Kolgrim's otherwise handsome features. "There is an immortal guardian," he explained as one would a child. "who refuses to the see the truth in the Risen Andraste." He frowned. "We cannot get passed him." That frown turned to a smile. "You, however, are unknown to him. You would be able to get passed him to destroy the Ashes."

_Lunatic_! "But," she said instead, "we need those Ashes to cure an ill man."

"You only need but a pinch," the cultist replied quickly, eagerly. "The rest can be destroyed by pouring a vial of Andraste's blood over them. Thusly, the power remaining in the ashes will be transferred to the Lady and her full potential shall be realized!"

"I'm not sure I like talking with this man," Alistair muttered behind her. Adela nodded her agreement, giving a slight motion with her hands, hoping her friends will see and recognize it as a gesture to be ready. This would not be an easy battle if this came to blows.

"Ah, but to avoid an unnecessary battle…?" Zevran put in, trailing off in his thoughts. His actions, however, belied his words as he placed both hands to the pommel of his daggers, his eyes stern and aware as he began to pick his targets.

"Why would I want to do such a thing?" Adela asked, trying to buy them more time, hoping to put Kolgrim and his followers off a bit.

A smile pasted upon his face, the human stepped even closer to the elf, his eyes gleaming. "You would become a revered Sister in our flock," he murmured to her. "With power and knowledge that only the Blessed Risen can endow." He turned away, and Adela could feel a spell of Morrigan's flush over her body. She realized that her daggers were now emanating a vicious chill.

While alternating between silently thanking the witch for her foresight and hoping fervently that Kolgrim and his mages did not sense the magic used, Adela shook her head at the man. "It's wrong," she said quietly, frowning up into the man's face as he turned. "Everything screams at me that doing this is wrong."

An angry scowl formed across his face. "You realize we cannot allow you to leave this place alive?" he stated, pulling from his back a massive axe.

Fear leaped in her stomach and she found herself pulling her enchanted blades free of their sheaths. She could hear her companions do that same. "You are certainly welcome to try," she said with as much bravado as she could muster.

She stepped quickly to the side, melting into the shadows created by the twists and curves of the cavern.

Alistair quickly made his way toward the mages, using his templar abilities to render them useless.

Roland had smashed his shield into Kolgrim's face, knocking the older man to his back.

Morrigan sent out blasts of cold against their foes before transforming into a huge, brown bear.

Zevran had vanished into the shadows, but a scream of agony to the side alerted Adela to his whereabouts.

Quietly, she swept passed the main bulk, swinging up behind the furthest mage. Quickly, precisely, she buried her daggers hilt deep into her back, twisting them before pulling them out in a spray of blood. A shriek of agony erupted from the cultist's blood flecked lips, and she slumped, dead, to the ground. Sheathing her blades, Adela pulled her bow, and quickly sent a shower of arrows into the bulk of the cultists who erupted like lava from behind the many alcoves and rubble of the chambers.

Alistair neatly divested the remaining mage of his head, and then turned his blade and shield on those cultists that had vomited forth into their midst. Zevran and Roland had Kolgrim down onto the ground again, the assassin clutching at a wound in his side. Grimacing in pain, he danced aside as Roland's blade descended upon the cult leader, piercing between the plates to split his heart in two. The assassin nimbly threw a dagger, catching a cultist in the eye, dropping him unceremoniously to the stone floor.

Adela aimed at an oncoming warrior, his blade up and ready to strike at the elf. Forcing herself to remain standing, she let the arrow loose, barely taking note as it scored a hit to the man's shoulder. She quickly drew and nocked another arrow, but not before the man had intercepted her and sliced downward. Dodging to the left, she threw her arm and bow out, twisting the blade into the sturdy wood of her Dalish made weapon. Agony raced up her arm as the blade cut deeply into the flesh of her forearm slicing up to her elbow, but she followed through, twisting the blade free of the cultist's grip. Bereft of weapon, the man swung out with his fist, hoping to catch the wounded woman. She ducked, blood pouring from the gaping wound of her arm, and twisted around, dragging a dagger free of its sheath. As she rose, she swept her off hand out, catching the man in the thigh with her sharp ironbark blade. As he cursed, swinging at her again, the elven rogue straightened, flicking her fingers into his eyes, momentarily blinding him. It took only another moment to drag her blade across his throat.

A burning pain shot up her arm. Hissing, she grasped her arm, falling to her knees as the blood dripped from the wound to the ground. Morrigan, the first to notice, sprinted toward her friend, pulling a healing potion from her pack as she recalled a spell. Dropping beside the elf, Morrigan forced the potion down Adela's throat, and then grasped the injury as she sent a healing spell flowing through her fingers. The wound was deep, but not life threatening and Adela admonished Morrigan when she saw how Zevran clutched his side, blood seeping from his fingertips.

"Your injury was the most obvious," the witch protested as she turned her healing talents to the assassin.

"Ah, my lovely raven," the former Crow purred as he slumped to the floor beside Adela. "Glad I am that my handsome mage taught you healing arts," he sucked his breath in between clenched teeth as Morrigan prodded his wound.

"You should be quiet, elf," Morrigan sulked at him as she pressed a poultice into the wound. "Lest you find yourself lying upon the floor unconscious."

"Ah, but lying upon the floor beside you," he persisted, "would well be worth it, no?"

"No," Morrigan stated quite firmly as Adela rose to join Alistair and Roland. The tone of her voice left no opening for the assassin, and so he sat quietly as she tended to his wounds.

After divesting the corpses of any usable supplies - such as healing poultices, lyrium potions, and such - the group left the cavern, and stepped out into the bright sunshine.


	29. Chapter 29

_Ah, the alerts, the favorites, the reviews! As always, an extra special thanks to those who take the time to review: Arsinoe de Blassenville, Nithu, CCBug, mutive, Biff McLaughlin_

_My hands actually hurt from typing this chapter. *ouch* And it's not even my longest!_

_Alright, alright, alright…as if admitting none of this is mine would do any good! But, fine! It's not mine! _

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 29_

The gloom of the caverns and tunnels made her eyes sensitive to the sunlight. Not brilliant, certainly, but bright to cause the elf to blink several times against the tearing of her eyes as she and her companions stepped from the cavern in where lay the remains of Kolgrim and his fanatical followers. She lifted her face, the falling snow catching in her long lashes, causing her eyes to blink even more furiously. She took a deep breath of the first lungful of fresh air she had had since entering the vile village just the day before.

Shielding her sensitive eyes, she gazed around them. Ahead of them were the devastated pathways leading to another building across the ruined courtyard. Cliffs and jagged ledges encircled the area, almost enclosing it in its natural walls. Snow flurried around them, accumulating upon the cold, stone ground as the wind whistled and blustered around corners and up the crevices and airshafts.

The elf halted, however, when the gusts of wind took on another tone. Motioning everyone back, she scanned the horizon, pulling her field of vision closer. A frown formed on her smooth features, and she turned, hand over her eyes, to peer up onto the many ledges and overhangs. Her blood nearly froze in her veins, and her vision tunneled as her blue eyes settled upon the majestic form of a slumbering high dragon.

Red scales shimmered in the gray sunshine, darkening around the creatures great shoulders and to its underbelly. Two horns curved out from the top of its reptilian head, lengthening out over large, hooded eyes. Rows of teeth, each as long as a Qunari's greatsword, jutted from between its lips, its long, alligator-like jaws clenched as great bouts of hot breath gusted from wide nostrils. The long head lay nestled upon crossed forelegs, its hind legs tucked under it, it's long, spiked tail coiled protectively around its long body.

Carefully, she eased back around the corner, and, in hushed and frightened whispers, explained what she saw. Zevran risked a peek around the corner and ducked back, white showing around his lips.

"If we move very quietly," the assassin offered in almost hopeful tones, "we should be able to sneak past the great beast."

Giving her elven friend a look of quiet incredulity, Adela gestured toward Alistair and Roland. "And our two heavily armed and armored friends here will what? Charm their way by?"

A mischievous twinkle in his tawny eyes, Zevran quipped, "Ah, see, my dear, I think you are catching on. Our fine, handsome men here may well be able to do just such a thing, no?" He easily dismissed the glares each man shot him as he sidled over to Adela's side once more.

"We are not seriously considering battling such a creature?" Morrigan asked, unable to contain or hide the fear in her voice. She relaxed slightly in relief as Adela shook her head.

"I have no desire to fight a high dragon," the elven Warden declared. "Not with half our team guarding over Brother Genetivi." She shrugged nervously, wondering if even with all their full strength she would ever consider such a thing.

Both elves went back to peering around the bend, scanning through the shadows lining the walled in walkway they would need to traverse. A walkway that went directly under the ledge the dragon now perched upon. There was no question that they could well manage to remain out of the dragon's point of view; Morrigan had a decent chance, given her upbringing in the Wilds. Alistair and Roland were a completely different story. Neither man was particularly known for his agility and grace, and divesting them of their heavy armor and trust that they would not need to be armored once they entered the far building was a stretch of faith none of them was willing to consider.

Adela was almost ready to relinquish the day's journey they had to give to get to where they were, turn around, and go back to where the good Brother and the others awaited when the rush of air and heavy flap of wings brought her attention up.

And up further as the dragon gave wing and flew off in a northerly direction, heading well away from the group.

Not wanting to push their luck, the four companions rushed to the far building, hastily pushing open the front doors. With a rush of relief, they hurriedly closed the doors, and turned, facing a stairway leading upwards.

It was as they stood, panting, staring up at the stairs that disappeared into the shadowy darkness above, that Adela noted the dark, coolness of the entryway they stood in. She took a deep breath. There was also a sense of peace that almost exuded from the very air itself. Despite the obvious neglect of the building, the air was clean, fresh and refreshing. Looking closely at her companions, she noted the same calm come over them as well.

The stairway led up to the first floor of the building. As they entered, they spied statues depicting the Prophet Andraste in various positions. Some showed her as the Warrior, fighting against the evil Imperium; others as the wise General, guiding those who followed her. One statue depicted her in conference with the elven leader, Shartan, their faces close together, she holding a hand over her heart, he with his head bowed slightly to her. The most predominant style of statue showed her standing straight and tall, her mantle flowing over her shoulders and down her slender form, her head held high, arms outstretched as though to the Maker. These statues lined the vast corridor they walked down, leading to another set of doors.

In front of which stood a man of middle years, dressed in archaic heavy plate. His sorrowful, wise eyes watched as the group approached, and a gentle smile formed upon his lips.

"Greetings, Pilgrims," he said in a soft, echoing voice.

"Greetings, Guardian," Adela replied as she stepped in front of him, stopping before him.

"You have come to seek out the Ashes of the Prophet," the Guardian stated, and Adela nodded in reply.

"We need the Ashes to cure a sick nobleman," Adela offered, but the Guardian shook his head.

"It is not I who decides if you are worthy to approach the Urn, Pilgrim," he stated. "That is for the Gauntlet to decide."

"The Gauntlet?" Alistair asked the slightest of quavers in his voice.

"Indeed," the Guardian nodded his head. "But, before I can let you pass, there are questions that must be asked, and answers given."

"What questions?" Adela asked.

The Guardian turned his full attention to the elven woman, his eyes reflecting back sorrow and pity. "Adela Tabris, daughter of the proud Dalish and beleaguered Alienage, Grey Warden, Commander, the path that brought you here has been fraught with pain, sorrow and suffering." He took a slight step forward, his eyes claiming hers in their intensity, unwilling to relinquish their hold. "You stood up to Lord Vaughan and sought to free those who had been wrongfully taken. In so standing up for yourselves, those who had once been under the care of your mother now suffer. Tell me, Adela, do you feel responsible for the suffering of those within the Alienage now?"

She felt the blood drain for her face, but she raised it, her eyes meeting the Guardian's with steady force. In a strong voice, she replied, "At one time, yes, I felt as though through my own actions I had brought pain and suffering to my people. However, since that time, I have learned that there will always be those cruel people who seek to elevate themselves by making others suffer. Such is the lot in life for the elves of Fereldan; we are always deemed unworthy of life or happiness. So, I would now encourage any of my people to protect themselves and theirs, regardless of what they may feel the consequences of those actions may bring later on." She tilted her chin up, defiantly. "I would do it again, if need be."

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, the Guardian stepped back. Adela, unaware of the approving gazes of her companions, bowed her head slightly, hoping no one noticed the trembling of her hands. As the Guardian turned to ask his questions of her friends, she realized just how true her own words had been. She had blamed herself upon learning of the fate of the Alienage, had learned of the purge, the sickness and the current conditions therein. She was certain that there would be those within the Alienage who, too, would blame her. However, since that time, she had learned that only when elves could be seen as people would the humans of their land cease treating them as animals. Her duty, now as a Grey Warden, was to make certain that humans did not only see her as an elf, but as a person determined to save the land from the Blight. She would remind them that the last Grey Warden to end a Blight had been elven. And that, given the opportunities, elves could and would assist in the protection of their land alongside the humans.

The Dalish had it wrong - they thought isolation would keep their people safe, allow them to grow. In some aspects, it was true. The Elves of the Dales had started regaining their longevity and some of their lost lore. However, they had no home of their own, no system set up to reflect the elven society of the past, the society they so longed to regain. Only when they stood shoulder to shoulder with those with whom they shared the land with could they even hope to do so. Changes came not by hiding away, but by dialogue and interaction with those races they deemed unworthy. As a relative outsider, despite her elven heritage, despite her Dalish heritage, Adela could so clearly see the divides between the elves of the Alienages, the Dalish and the humans. Divides created mostly from an inability to see the other side; divides created by obstinacy and mistrust.

She sighed, glancing up as the Guardian pulled back from the group. She watched the thoughtful expressions upon her friends' faces.

She had known all along that Alistair had felt he had abandoned Duncan and the other Grey Wardens on the field. Moreover, no amount of talking with him, telling him that he had acted upon orders from Duncan would convince him otherwise. He still let it haunt him.

Roland, too, felt the sting of feeling he had left the innocents at Highever to terrible fates, even when he had been living his own torturous nightmare. The guilt he felt at surviving would continue to assail him until he could accept that there had been nothing he could have done to prevent what had happened. His dying would only have added one more to the death count.

Adela had no doubts that, with a past as bloody and harsh as his that Zevran had many regrets. She had seen that, beneath the joking and innuendos, the elven male had a deep personality and tremendously caring heart. The elven assassin, however, had refused to allow the Guardian to finish his question, merely stating that he had regrets and left it at that.

And Morrigan, staring straight and haughty, proud, at the Guardian refused to entertain any question or observation he may have. With a bow, he respected her wishes, and asked nothing of her.

With a respectful bow, the Guardian advised the group that they would be allowed to continue further into the Temple, to face the challenges of the Gauntlet.

DA:O

The first leg of the Gauntlet was rather…disappointing to the elf. A series of riddles disguised as historical fact, and the locked door at the end of the chamber mysteriously opened. It was rather anticlimactically, given the discussion with the Guardian, and Adela could not help but feel disappointed with the outcome.

It was the figure, shrouded in a faint ghostly aura that caused the elf to pause, wishing for a way to just turn tail and run. She stepped neared, certain her friends could sense the tension in each of her steps, could feel her reluctance to approach the form as they neared. Hafter, sensing his mistress's ill ease, growl slightly in the back of his throat as the group neared.

Blond hair, curling slightly, fell down the figure's back. Standing taller than Morrigan, the form was slender and very feminine. With catlike grace, the woman turned, revealing slender, shapely ears, sharp gray-blue eyes, and a whirling tattoo over her right eye. Her face, a sharper, older image of Adela's own, was set in a stern mask, those eyes sweeping over Adela's companions before resting upon the girl herself.

"Mother," Adela whispered in a weak voice, her knees trembling as she gazed upon the beloved face of her fierce mother. Alistair moved closer, almost brushing against her shoulder, and she felt Roland's strong presence behind her. She noticed her mother's frown at the humans within her group, and her frown eased only slightly at the sight of Zevran.

In a strong, lyrical voice, the elven warrior spoke. "Creators protect you, my daughter," Adaia's eyes softened as she spoke the words of greeting. A smile crossed her face, smoothing the harsh lines, softening it so that it looked more like Adela's own features. "Fear not for those you left behind, da'len," her mother said, placing cold hands upon her shoulders. "Your actions, though they may have brought pain for the now, will help in the after that is to follow."

Adela was surprised, truly. She had expected her mother to first spit out harsh words at the humans flanking her. Adaia seemed aware of that, and smiled at her daughter's confusion. "I died by the hand of humans, daughter," Adaia replied. "And by my own arrogance and stubbornness. Glad I am that you inherited your father's temperance, fueled with my spirit. Had it been the other way, I am certain you would have died when you were in that vile little man's possession."

"Mamae," Adela whispered, stepping nearer, wanting nothing more than to hug her mother.

Adaia smiled down at her smaller daughter. "Long had I hated, child. Hated humans, hated the Wardens, hated friends whom had no cause for such. Your heart is true, your goals just. Hold your head high, da'len. You are a child of the Dales, and it will be yet another child of the Elvhenan that will save Fereldan, and Thedas, from Man's arrogance."

With these words, Adaia stepped back, the aura about her growing in intensity. With a hand raised in farewell, the ghost of the Dalish warrior dissipated as mist.

Adela stood there, staring at the spot where the vision of her mother had stood, blinking back the tears that prickled at the back of her eyes. Alistair nervously cleared his throat, and she looked up at him. With a shy smile, the human warden put his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her in for a tight hug. Adela put her arms about him, pressing her face against the cold metal of his armor.

"Are you alright?" he asked, shaking her gently.

Nodding, she pulled away, smiling up at him and then turning that smile upon her friends. "I'm fine," she said, stepping out of his embrace, adjusting her armor. Her smile brightened. "Everything will be fine," she said with strength and finality. Roland reached over and gently brushed her cheek, and nodded his agreement.

"Shall we see what the rest of this Gauntlet has in store for us?" she asked, and then led her companions further in.

The next chamber proved a battle against themselves. Adela and her companions found that such a fight was difficult, for every weakness they tried to take advantage in their opponent was used against themselves as well. The companions were battered, bruised, and somewhat disheartened by having to kill spirit versions of themselves and their friends. Scowling, Zevran proclaimed that he did not see the value in such a test.

The next chamber proved more daunting. A puzzle to cross a vast, seemingly bottomless chasm. Along each of the sides of the chasm were four flat rune stones, each large enough for the Sten to stand upon. She and her friends studied the rune stones, Alistair finding the plaque that gave a hint as to how to beat the puzzle. He frowned, declaring that he hated puzzles and then wondered how deep the chasm was. Adela stood at the mouth of the chasm. The other three alternately stepped upon the stones, and suddenly a stone appeared at the end of the path, appearing solid. With a furtive glance at her friends, Adela placed a cautious foot upon the stone, testing it. Deciding it was solid, she stepped firmly upon it, much to the dismay of Alistair and Roland, who both cried out. Roland, standing upon one of the stones, made to move, but Morrigan, standing across from him, called out, commanding him to remain where he was. Alistair then moved along the stones, and the trio began to step around and upon the remaining stones, until finally Adela was able to make her way across. Once her feet stepped lightly upon the floor, the bridge appeared, as solid as any stone. Hafter bounded along the stone bridge, barking and jumping around. With a whoop, Alistair rushed across, gathering Adela in his arms, ignoring the shaking that had come over him as he had watched her make her way across. The others joined them, and the group then moved toward the next chamber.

At the chamber's entryway stood a stone altar, engraved with images of Andraste leading her army against the Tevinter Imperium. The Lady herself stood upon the crest of a hill, overlooking the vast armies of the once great empire, one hand stretched out before her as the wind tossed her hair back. Behind and beside her stood her generals, eyes uplifted in prayer and reverence to the Maker.

On the other side of the altar roared a wall of red flames, licking up taller than either Alistair or Roland stood. Beyond that stood a magnificent stairway, leading up.

They stood there, staring balefully at the wall of flames, at least six feet deep and that stretched directly across the chamber from one wall to the other. Zevran and Adela each paced the barrier, starting at opposite walls. Neither elf could discern a path through the flaming barrier.

The pair met up at the center. "I can see no way around it, mi amica," Zevran admitted quietly, his honey colored eyes scanning the length and breadth of the obstacle, as though he could see something both he and Adela had missed their first sweep by.

Biting her bottom lip, Adela agreed with a slight nod of her head, her own eyes skimming along the blockade as well. With a sigh, she stepped to the altar, dropping into a crouch as she studied the surface of the altar.

She frowned, then a faint blush rose to her cheeks as she read the inscription. She glanced up at her party, and then back down at the altar. _Figures I'd choose mostly men to accompany me_, she thought ruefully, feeling the blush rush from her cheeks down her neck. Closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, she rose and told the men standing quietly behind her what the inscription said.

Zevran immediately wore a wide grin upon his handsome face, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Both Alistair and Roland fought blushes of their own. Morrigan simply scoffed, declaring that she needn't worry about unwanted glances from these three. Adela turned back to the firewall, offering it a glare that, had it been living person, would have frozen it to the spot. Extracting a promise that the men would avert their gazes, the elf proceeded to divest herself of all of her equipment, armor and clothing, as per the altar's instruction.

Taking a deep breath, keeping her eyes averted forward, the elven warden stepped into the blazing barrier…and stepped through unscathed.

She turned, facing the guardian. Behind him, the firewall had vanished. The guardian stepped nearer to the elf, further blocking her view of her friends. Placing his hands upon her shoulders, he said in his soft, otherworldly voice, "You have been through the trials of faith. You have walked the path of Andraste. Like Her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy, Pilgrim." At his words, Adela found herself armed, armored, and clothed again, much to her relief. She had started to shiver with chill, nerves and embarrassment. The guardian offered her a smile and a pat upon her shoulders before releasing her fully and stepping back. She was surprised by the slight warm shock that flowed from the spirit's touch and through her body, but she thought nothing further of it as her companions stepped forward, and ascended the stairway with her.

She stepped to the foot of the stairway, gazing up its wide berth, to the top where a magnificent statue of Andraste stood. She could feel her companions - especially Alistair, though their shared tainted blood - intensely. With a sigh, she mounted the stairs, making her way up the impressive length, to stand before the statue. At Andraste's feet stood a marble and silverite altar, and upon that sat an urn of gold, silverite and dragon bone.

Behind the elf, Roland knelt, offering up prayers to the Maker. Alistair breathed out a reverent oath, complimenting Adela for getting them there. Morrigan stood, staring with a look of almost boredom at the urn, while Zevran made the remark of wanting a vase just like the urn for his home. Adela tossed her elven friend a smirk, then turned back to the urn, trying to discern her own feelings at their journey.

There, lying in the urn, were the mortal remains of the woman hailed as the Maker's Bride. Conflicting emotions came over her at the thought: Andraste had been responsible for the barbarian slaves' freedom from a dark and corrupt empire. The elves had fought by her side for their own freedom. Yet, Adela had to wonder, were the freedoms, so extravagantly purchased through blood and strife all those centuries before, managed to survive the tide of years? For the elves, the answer was a resounding 'no'. For the mages, again, 'no'. The Chantry, for all the flowery words and declaration that it spoke for the Maker, took more than it gave, and saw the world with hooded eyes. Yet, she could not help but feel respect for the woman who had pulled together vast armies among the Alammari barbarians, and helped toppled a mighty Imperium, which even today had not recovered from its devastating losses.

Therefore, with reverence, she said a silent prayer to the Maker, and took a pinch of the ashes, placing them inside a tiny pouch. Her fingertips numb from the contact, she gently brushed her fingers together, allowing none of the Sacred Ashes to fall to the floor, wasted.

Turning, offering up a tiny smile to her friends, Adela led the group through the side door, and back onto the mountainside.

DA:O

Heavy wings cut through the air, sending downdrafts to the ground below. Alistair looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun, watching as the red high dragon resumed its perch upon the ledge just beyond the walkway. A nervous glance to his companions spoke more than words could on the anxiety level. The magnificent, ancient beast was watching the ruined courtyard with intense interest, the heat of fury all but scorching the surrounding area. Apparently, she had discovered the decimation of the cult and her young within.

DA:O

The beast's nostrils twitched, the scent of human and elf rising upwards, floated along the updraft she had created from her recent flight. Red slatted eyes glared down along the walkway, to the courtyard and toward the hated ruins wherein the damnable immortal spirit waited. Those hate filled eyes narrowed as her sight skimmed along the crumbling walls, passed the main doorway, toward the side where stood the hidden entries into the temple. A roar burst forth from her huge lungs as her eyes settled upon those responsible for the deaths of her younglings. Gathering herself, she leaped into the air like a cat, her powerful wings beating to raise her into the air. With another bellow of anger, the great ancient beast swooped down toward the scattering group, fire bursting from her lungs, seeking to scorch and roast the fools where they stood.

DA:O

They watched with dawning horror as the great beast lunged down at them, sending her magical fire at them. Alistair gathered his willpower, hoping that his templar abilities would work against dragon's fire. Adela and Zevran jumped aside, Adela pulling her bow free of her shoulder, nocking an arrow in a quick, fluid movement. As she brought the missile to bear, Zevran started scampering up the stone wall, keeping into the shadows, looking for a landing upon the monster's back. Hafter, barking out his own war cry, jumped along side of Adela, ready to charge should the need arise.

Roland pulled his shield forth, dropping down into a crouch behind the wall as the fire blasted toward him. Morrigan, standing to the side, called forth a cone of ice, enveloping the creature's maw within a sheet of ice. She followed that up quickly with a stone fist, shattering the ice, and punching the nose beneath the icy sheath, jerking the creature's head back with a snarl of outrage.

Alistair sent out a cleansing force, but found that dragon's fire was not the same as mage fire. Shouting out his discouragement, the ex-templar raised his own shield and sword, and proceeded to lunge toward the great brute, cleaving at the creature's underbelly. Roland had risen and joined the other warrior.

The dragon danced back on its four feet, angrily roaring at the pair of warriors who worried her underside. Zevran found purchase within the stone wall and continued his climb upwards, seeking a position just above the great wyrm's back. Morrigan continued to assault the beast with frost, stone and energy, alternating between the primal and entropic spells at their foe and healing (she thanks Wynne and Niall for their patience in training her!) to her allies. A stead stream of ice arrows sprang from Adela's bow, many merely bouncing off the tough scaly hide, but many more finding purchase between the scales along its chest, throat and underbelly. Hafter, seeing his chance, raced under the creature, nipping and biting at its forefeet, tearing at its toes.

The great beast let out a scream of outrage, flapping its wings to seek purchase into the air to get away from the sting and pain of the swords, arrows and spells of its tiny foes. Zevran, seeing an opening, leaped from his stony hold, arms out stretched, his daggers held out and blades down in his hands. He landed in a not-quite-so-graceful fall upon one wing, his daggers ripping through the thin membrane as he scrambled for purchase. The dragon hissed and roared at the newest pain, fumbling back to the ground as the ruined wing failed to offer enough resistance to pull it off the ground. With a triumphant 'ha!' the elven assassin rose swiftly, dancing lightly across the bones of the wings, leaping gracefully upon the creature's scaly back, immediately dropping, driving his daggers deeply into the back of the dragon's neck.

Pain erupted from the wounds, and the not-Andraste dragon roared again, this time breathing out fire. Adela, forced to drop her bow, barely rolled out of the way, while Morrigan scampered against the wall, calling forth another cone of ice upon the dragon. Alistair and Roland danced further beneath the behemoth, their blades finding soft spots and tearing and rending scales free, driving their blades deeply into the soft flesh below.

Adela's roll brought her too close to the dragon, and the beast ceased its fiery breath. Swooping down, it sought to grasp the scrambling elf into its jaws. Pulling out a dagger, Adela spun about, ducking and twisting away from the creature's sharp teeth. Striking out quickly, she slashed her blade across the sensitive nostrils of the monster. Hissing in a decidedly catlike fashion, that monstrous head dove forward, knocking the elf to the ground, her dagger skittering away out of reach. Pain exploded along her body as the powerful jaws closed around her, scooping her up off the ground, the sharp teeth digging into the magically enhanced leather of the armor she wore. A scream of abject terror forced its way passed her lips, and she grappled with the jaws, trying in vain to jam her fingers into the sensitive flesh of the gums and lips.

Morrigan's cry of horror blended with Adela's scream of anguish. Alistair, closest to the women, watched in helpless dread as the creature's head rose, shaking the elf in its mouth like a rag doll. Fury, intense and unknown to the young man, rose in his heart, and, discarding his shield, he launched himself bodily at the beast's head, his blade held upwards as he leaped up. Driving the blade forward and down, he lodged it deeply into one malicious, glaring eye. The creature snarled in outrage and pain, dropping the lifeless form of Adela to the ground. Giving his own cry of fury, Alistair pulled himself up onto the face of the beast, holding on by his embedded sword. Bracing his feet, holding on as the dragon swung its head in an attempt to dislodge the human, Alistair pushed with his weight upon the blade, hoping to drive it deeper into the eye, seeking its brain.

Zevran continued driving his daggers into the creature's neck, pulling them free, using them to scale the long, serpentine neck. He did not witness the attack upon Adela, could not see Alistair's struggle upon the maw of the beast. His only thoughts were to reach the head, and seek a soft spot in its skull, thereby ending the battle as quickly as possible.

Roland, below, turned his eyes from Adela's bloodied form, swallowing down his own fear as he saw, from the corner of his eye, Morrigan approach the elf, hopefully with healing. He positioned himself directly under the dragon's soft belly. Tossing down his longsword and shield, the knight pulled his seldom-used greatsword from his back. Crouching down, he positioned the blade, tip up. Then, with an anguished, enraged war cry, the knight drove the blade upwards with all his strength, driving it hilt deep into the soft flesh, tearing through skin, flesh, and into the organs beneath. Blood poured from the wound, covering the knight as he pulled the blade free, moving toward the chest of the great, languishing beast.

With gentle hands, Morrigan pulled Adela's broken body away from the battle. Pouring her healing into the elf, she vainly struggled to find her life's pulse. Nothing. She poured more healing into her, taking only a mere moment to gulp down two vials of lyrium. Brushing a blood strand of hair from her face, she then poured a vial of healing potion down the elf's throat. There, a faint beat pulsed along her finger at the elf's slender throat. Repeatedly, the mage cast healing spells and poured healing potions into the girl, gulping vial after vial of lyrium, trying desperately to keep the young woman alive as the warriors and assassin fought to bring the murderous beast down.

He had no idea how long he hung onto his sword, pushing, jamming it and twisting and jabbing it into the beast's eye. He knew he hurt it - badly - as it continued to road and shake its head. However, the movements were slowing, becoming weaker, and he was certain that he had hit brain matter as his blade slipped easily to the hilt in its eye. With a vicious twist, he spun the blade fully about, digging out great chunks of the eye, blood and clear fluids now flowing easily over his hands and arms. His feet slipped, and he went to his knees, his grip on his sword the only thing keeping him from falling many feet to the hard, stone ground below. Alistair glanced up, and saw Zevran there, driving his blades down into the creature's skull. A weak murmur of a roar whispered from the beast's maw, and it started to slump to the ground, its struggles becoming less and less intense. He clung to his sword, praying to the Maker that Adela was all right.

Roland saw that the beast was failing. Driving his blade once more up between its ribs, he drove it hilt deep, unsure if he hit anything vital, knowing only that the creature was dying. And falling. Leaving his blade where it was embedded, the young knight rolled out from under the creature as it fell to its side, a great gasp escaping its bloodied lips. He watched as Alistair, too, left his sword buried hilt deep in one eye and leaped ungracefully to the ground. Zevran, with his own usual grace, practically danced from the creature's head, his eyes alight with triumph over their vanquished foe.

That light died as his eyes fell upon the prone and bloody figure Morrigan held gently in her lap as she continued to cast healing spells into her still body.


	30. Chapter 30

_Thanks for the alerts, the favorites (I got another author favorite! *squeal*)! As always, an extra special thanks Arsinoe de Blassenville, who always takes the time to give a shout out to me._

_You know, I keep waiting and waiting for BioWare to sign over all of their rights to DA:O and universe to me, but, it never arrives! _

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 30_

Zevran had raced back to the where the entrance to the temple was, only to meet with impenetrable marble, stone and mountain. Scowling fiercely, the elven assassin slipped to the side, and again, instead of finding the exit he knew they had passed through found only unmarred stone. Dejectedly, he paced back to where Morrigan continued to cast healing spells over Adela's inert body, Alistair and Roland hovering protectively over them as Hafter paced around. As they waited, the snow continued to fall, collecting at their feet, as the wind whistled mournfully around the corners and edges of the mountainside.

It took several more minutes before Morrigan proclaimed Adela stable enough to move. Without hesitation or a word, Alistair gently put his arms under the elf's head and knees, carefully lifting her into his arms. Roland and Zevran took point, Alistair and Adela in the middle, Morrigan and Hafter taking up the rear.

They found the exit back into the cult's center. Roland and Zevran entered first, making certain that no other foes remained. Content it all was clear, they led the others into the vast chamber.

To the side of the chamber was a small room, complete with a bed. Alistair gently laid Adela down and Morrigan resumed her healing spells. The witch was obviously exhausted; healing was not her strong suit and the amount of energy and mana required for the spell casting was immense, especially given the damage Adela had taken from the dragon. Roland and Zevran offered to fetch Niall, and Alistair quickly gave his assent with a nod, telling them to move with all haste. Roland quickly divested himself of his heavy armor, wearing only the wool and cotton trousers and tunic beneath. Carrying only his longsword, the knight followed quickly after the already departed elven assassin.

Morrigan rested her head on the bed next to Adela for several moments, feeling an overwhelming sense of fear wash over her. A slender, elegant hand brushed along Adela's forehead, sending small bursts of healing through. The elf's injuries were extensive, and the witch was truly doubting her ability to keep the young woman alive. Each of her ribs had been broken, and given the ragged breathing she guessed that at least one of her lungs had been damaged, if not punctured. Her left arm and both legs, along with her back, were broken, but were now set and were healed enough to allow for movement. Morrigan was certain her skull was cracked, and she looked forlornly at the lovely woman's smashed face. She moved the hand to the elf's abdomen, sending out seeking energies there. As she feared, there were internal injuries as well. She bit back a sob; how was she going to keep the elf alive long enough for the more proficient healer to arrive?

There was a light tap to her shoulder, and she looked up in to concerned and haggard face of Alistair. She frowned; she and the ex-templar were just beginning to become comfortable in each other's presence, something that had started during their journey through the Brecilian Forest. She was well aware of his feelings for his fellow Warden, and she was concerned that those same feelings would make him irrational at this time. Another look into his face, however, consoled her that he would not make any unwarranted scenes, but would support her efforts as best as he could. With a sigh, she placed her hands upon Adela's abdomen, calling forth upon her healing magic, sending it through the poor girl's broken body.

During this time, Alistair had moved from Morrigan, removing his gauntlets and began pulling supplies from his pack. Anything that could remotely be used for healing he placed within reach of the witch. He then pulled free a woolen blanket and, with a nod from Morrigan, placed it over Adela's shivering form.

"We need to remove her armor," Morrigan said with a frown as she rose and began to undo the leather skirt to her armor. Nodding, Alistair rose to assist in the removal.

Now down to the wool and cotton clothes she wore beneath the armor, Adela's shivering resumed. The witch quickly covered her with the blanket. She knew that the underclothing would need to be removed as well, but she had managed to keep the swelling down from her broken limbs, and decided the need to keep the elf warm was more important than removing the clothing at this time. She then pulled forth healing poultices and potions, and began to apply them to the bleeding and open wounds on her face, head and torso, periodically sending forth more healing magic in an attempt to heal the multitude of broken bones.

The healing was slow, tedious, and thoroughly outside of her comfort zone. Morrigan was concerned, more concerned than she has ever been about anyone. This elf - tiny, unassuming, non-demanding little woman - had become so important to her in such a short period of time. This elf had managed to worm her way through the carefully constructed walls the witch had placed around her heart so long ago that at times it was nearly as overwhelming as the first steps she took out of the Wilds. That she was important to all of Fereldan as one of only two remaining Grey Wardens was irrelevant to the witch. That she is Adela Tabris meant more than anything to the witch.

Alistair shuffled nervously by her side, trying to shrink his huge bulk, to keep out of the apostate's way while still making himself available should she need assistance. Morrigan smirked at that, but was none the less comforted by his nearness. She sent more healing magic into the small body, hoping and praying (to whom she will not admit) that Niall would make his miraculous appearance sooner rather than later. She doubted her own magical prowess with mending. Give her a target to rend, hex, curse or destroy, and the witch was as confident as any with her magical prowess. Healing left her feeling weak and next to useless. But it was those very same abilities now that will keep the elf alive.

And, she will keep the elf alive. She snarled this bit to herself as she placed another poultice upon a weeping head wound. The girl's will was strong; Morrigan's will was strong. She ran her hands down the length of the elf's small body, casting healing magic again into her, feeling the bones of her arm and legs knit together beneath her ministrations. She then reached for a lyrium potion. The witch had never had to rely overly much on these potions, but casting such foreign magic, and over such an extended time, had depleted her own substantial natural mana supply significantly.

She barely noticed that Alistair had risen to his feet, and he moved to the elf's head, his eyes dark with worry and concern as a large hand gently brushed aside an errant lock of blood encrusted hair. Yellow eyes raised momentarily and she nearly gasped at the gentle look that had fixed upon the young man's face as he stared down into the unconscious elf's battered face. And though she was not certain she can identify the exact emotion that look expressed, she did realize that she had seen a similar expression upon another face, an expression that had been directed at her. Shaking her raven head, the witch resumed her tending to the injured woman, putting such thoughts aside.

For now.

DA:O

The pair of men moved quickly through the abandoned temple ruins. Apparently, during their first foray through the cultists' temple they had managed to either outright kill all of the cultists therein or discourage any further attacks from the zealots. Regardless, Roland and Zevran managed to reunite with the splinter group and collect Niall in just an hour.

But, that hour had been purchased through ceaseless running, dodging and full out flight from the greater chamber above. Niall, not as physically fit as either knight or assassin, would require more time to make the journey. What took the pair of seasoned and fit warriors an hour to traverse now took twice that to return.

Roland's nerves were tense, and he fought against the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. He knew that Morrigan would do everything within her power and knowledge to keep Adela alive, that the witch cared about the young elf greatly. But Niall was their healer, one who was very strong in both his art and medicinal knowledge. Had he been with them immediately after the attack…

He shook his red head, forcing those thoughts from his mind. Niall was valiantly trying to keep pace with the knight and assassin, but Roland can see how red his face had gotten with his exertions. He glanced around; they were in the large chamber where they had encountered dragon lings and cultists - including several mages. Raising his hand, he called for a halt, passing his canteen of water over to the exhausted mage, who stood, hands on his thighs, doubled over as he tried to regain his breath.

Barely breathing hard, Zevran scouted around the room and to the opposite passageway, making certain their route remained clear.

Niall thanked Roland as he passed the canteen back over, standing straight, and then flexing his back to loosen muscles that threatened to lock up on him at any moment. Roland watched the mage carry through his stretching exercises. The relief that passed through him was strong once the mage indicated he was ready to continue their race through the twisting corridors that wend their way through the mountainside.

The relief that Roland felt was profound as they entered the vast chamber that had been the scene of their battle with Kolgrim and his fanatics. Leading the mage to the small chamber to the side, the knight watched as Niall took Morrigan's place by Adela. He could see the relief that passed over the witch's normally impassive features. Morrigan then shooed the three men from the room, explaining that they would only get in the way and make their job more difficult.

Roland and Alistair's eyes met in quiet concern. Zevran, taking Morrigan's words to heart, pushed the two human males from the room, 'Tsking' at them for delaying their exit. With a final glance, Roland left the chambers, closely behind Alistair and Zevran.

Niall barely acknowledged their departure, his attention so fully upon the now still form of Adela. He praised Morrigan for her quick thinking and actions, all of which prevented the small elven woman from dying there upon the battlefield. The witch fairly preened at the male mage's praise and she immediately set to task of following each and every one of his instructions. The mage smiled. Even proud Morrigan knew when another had skills that surpassed her own.

Hours passed and the rest of their party reunited in the chambers. The Sten had carried Brother Genetivi and had placed the old man upon several bedrolls in the main chamber. Adela had fallen into convulsions and then violent chills. They worked quickly, applying poultices, healing potions and spells upon her quivering form. Finally, her body warmed to normal degrees, and the convulsions subsided. They managed to repair her broken bones, torn ligaments and tattered muscles. The internal bleeding had ceased, and her breathing, while still ragged, resumed a more rhythmic motion, one associated with someone deep in slumber.

Still, the healer was not able to heal all of the injuries perpetrated upon the small form. He fretted mostly over her head injury.

"I believe that there has been swelling of her brain," he tiredly told his fellows. His eyes glanced over at the pale form of the elven warden. "She is in a natural sleep, and for now, I think that is what is best for her. Nature can heal what magic cannot."

He rubbed at his eyes, grainy from over spending his magic, tired from sleepless days of worry while he and the others awaited Adela and her group's return. He had dreaded, and driven his companions crazy. He just knew that something would go amiss.

He had no idea that it would be their intrepid leader - Fearless Leader as they had all taken to calling the tiny elven woman with more heart than muscle.

"How long before she will awaken?" Alistair asked in a voice the mage did not recognize, for it was too small, too young for even the occasionally child-like young man.

Exhausted, he shrugged. "A week, perhaps two. But even when she awakens," he warned as the faces of his fellows fell as one, "she will still need rest. Depending upon how she is when she does awaken." He was not about to say _if _she awakens; that was too pessimistic even for him.

Yes, as much of a naysayer as he tended to be, he had every hope, every thought that Adela would, indeed, pull through this. She was strong - perhaps not so much in body, but her mind, heart, soul and willpower held a strength that few others ever did. He turned his head to gaze at the prone figure of their leader. He had confidence she would survive.

He just did not know in what condition she would be in when she did, finally, open those magnificent eyes of hers.

DA:O

Alistair listened as Niall gave his diagnosis, taking note that Morrigan would nod her dark head in confirmation. With a sigh, he ran a huge hand over his face, his shoulders slumped. Niall stated he believed she would wake up. So, there was hope. Niall had then stated that it would take some time due to the swelling of her brain. _How did one's brain swell?_ The warden shook his head, clearing out the thoughts. If Niall understood it, that was enough for him.

So, now they had a decision to make. No, he had a decision to make. With Adela out of commission for now, the duty of command fell fully upon his shoulders. He groaned at that, recalling the first time he had been placed in charge. But the second time had been successful, he reminded himself quickly, not allowing his mind to dwell too much upon Connor. He bowed his head, thinking, trying to keep himself from staring at Adela's too still form.

The most important thing was to get the Ashes back to Redcliffe. He knew this; they had no idea how much longer Eamon had, if he even still lived. He forced that thought right out of his head quickly. Wynne was there, along with the little elven mage, Artemis, of whom Wynne had spoken of with great respect. All healers, all extremely skilled.

So, his task fell to getting the Ashes to Redcliffe so that those same extremely skilled healers could put it to use. Now he glanced over at Adela. He had been sorely tempted to use the Ashes upon her. Especially when Zevran reported that the entrances back into the Guardian's lair had been closed off. However, he knew Adela too well. She would be angry and disappointed if they had risked all that they had for what she would consider nothing. And, while her life was worth more to him than Eamon's or anyone else's, he felt he could not bear her disappointment. Then, Niall had assured them that he felt she would survive.

He turned his gaze from Adela to skim over their group. The Sten had brought Brother Genetivi up with them, and the old man sat, listening and watching. Leliana had told Alistair that Niall had changed his diagnosis of the scholar and that he had managed to save his foot, although the Brother would need to rest for a long period of time before he could use it properly again, if ever.

Adela had to remain here. And send the Ashes with some of their party to Redcliffe.

"Everyone," Alistair called out once he had the basic formation of a plan in his head. Everyone, save for Niall, who was back at Adela's bedside, turned their full attention upon the Warden.

_Okay_…"The first thing we need to do is get Adela and Brother Genetivi," he bent his head to the scholar, who nodded back up at him, "to more comfortable chambers."

"The Chantry," Leliana offered immediately, her clear blue eyes turning toward the passageways. "I noticed that living areas were set for their Father Eirick. It should be comfortable, easy to keep warm, and easily defendable, should any of the remaining villagers seek revenge." The bard turned her gaze back to the human warden.

After a moment's thought, he nodded. "Niall," the mage lifted his head. "Is Adela stable enough to move down to the Chantry?"

The mage's face scrunched in thought as he turned his thoughtful gaze upon the young elf in question. With a nod, he replied, "I believe so. We'll need to set her upon a litter; carrying her would jar her too much."

With a nod, Alistair continued. "Great. Then we'll need a small group to bring the Ashes back to Redcliffe."

"What?" Leliana stepped forward, frowning. "You mean we're to leave some of us behind?" Alistair could tell the bard did not like this idea. "What if the villagers prove less than forgiving?"

"We'll have to fortify the defenses around the Chantry," the warden conceded with a frown. "We can't delay the return any longer. We need Arl Eamon's assistance against the Blight, and this is the only option, short of risking Adela, that I can come up with."

"He's right," Roland offered as support to his friend. "It's the only way."

Alistair smiled without humor. "I'm glad you think so, Roland," the knight turned his red head toward the blond. "Because you are going to lead the group back."

The knight's green eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. "The hell I am," he replied between clenched teeth. Alistair frowned. He had thought the other man would disagree…moving quickly, he pulled Roland to the side.

"Roland," he began, "I am not sending you as a way of getting my rival out of the way," he had immediately seen what angered Roland and wanted to quench that thought immediately. Honestly, the thought had never occurred to Alistair; he just knew Roland was the best man for the job. And he told him so.

Roland stood, glaring at the man. After a few moments of thought, and a deep breath, the knight surprised Alistair by saying, "Recruit me."

Alistair blinked. _What_? "Excuse me?" he asked, trying to wrap his mind around the suggestion.

Roland took a step forward, allowing barely a few inches between them. "I said recruit me." He crossed his arms to hic chest, glaring at the other man. "You may be Adela's second, but I am not under anyone's command here. If you want me to obey your orders, then you're going to have to do something that puts you in direct command of me." The proud knight straightened, lifting his handsome head. "So, that means you have to recruit me into the Grey Wardens."

Floored and speechless, Alistair stood there dumbfounded. Finding his voice, he whispered, "Are you sure about this, Roland? Once I recruit you, there is no turning back."

His expression softening, Roland replied. "Look, had Highever Castle not fallen, I would have met up with the Wardens at Ostagar and taken the Joining. Regardless of what I've seen since joining up with Adela, my mind has not been changed to the fact that I wish to become a Grey Warden."

Alistair did not miss that he had said that he had joined Adela, but let is slide. He took a moment to study the other man. He saw the strength of Roland's determination - to either remain at the side of the woman he cared for, or to join with the Grey Wardens. He shook his head, taking a moment to think. Adela had never mentioned allowing Roland within the ranks. The subject had come up once or twice, but she had always pushed it aside. Alistair felt that the young woman did not want to subjugate a friend to the joining. She had not liked it, and, even now, still had trouble with dealing with the personal consequences of the joining.

However, in a sense, Roland was now asking to join with the Wardens, to fulfill a promise he made to Duncan, to join an organization the young knight fully believed in. He was strong, knew how to battle the darkspawn, and was a natural leader and impressive warrior. He could almost hear Duncan's voice in his head. _We need men like him_.

Letting out a deep sigh, Alistair nodded his head. Raising his eyes to look directly into Roland's, he raised his voice so that everyone could hear, "Very well. Ser Roland Gilmore, formerly Knight of Highever, I hereby induct you into the Order of the Grey Wardens of Fereldan, whereupon at such time as we are able you shall undertake the Joining. Until said time, you shall conduct yourself in a manner fitting the Grey Wardens."

He watched as Roland stood slightly straighter, but let out a breath of relief. He had actually thought Alistair would deny his demand. "So shall I do," the knight replied formally.

With a small grin, the senior warden said, "So, now that that is taken care of. Recruit Roland, you are hereby ordered to take the Ashes back to Redcliffe. The Sten and Leliana shall accompany you." He watched with satisfaction as Roland nodded his agreement and did not argue with Alistair any further.

Turning to the rest of the group, who had been watching with great interest, he replied, "So, first duty is to make a couple of litters and take Adela and Brother Genetivi down to the Chantry."

Nodding their agreement, the group went off in search of materials to put together the litters.


	31. Chapter 31

_Thanks for the alerts, the favorites, and especially the reviews! Nithu, celtic-twinkle, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Eriana10, Biff McLaughlin!_

_Most of the above reviewers are also wonderful authors. I __strongly __recommend reading their stories. To receive reviews from these authors (all whose works I have read and thoroughly enjoyed) is a great blessing to me and helps to encourage my own writing._

_As always, I do not go canon with my stories. To do so would be rather boring! After all, if you want canon or as game play, I'd suggest buying David Gaider's books or play the game. I'm just taking BioWare's marvelous universe and twisting it to best suit my own twisted wants and desires. *maniacal cackle here* _

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 31_

The pain was gone, and she was able to move. Twisting her head slightly, she noticed that she was lying upon a soft bed. It was too dark and she could not make out the details of the room she lay within. Tentatively, she pushed herself up, fully expecting pain to blossom within her. That it did not confirmed what she had suspected: she was in the Fade.

A frown settled upon her fine features as she rose from the bed. Feeling her way along the wall, she found the window. Pulling aside the window treatments allowed bright sunshine to flood the room. She turned and was surprised to discover that she was in her room back at her father's home in the Alienage.

Seeking comfort in home, she thought as she moved toward her armoire and wardrobe, pulling out clean under garments and a set of leather trousers and a linen shirt. She peeled off the trousers and tunic she currently wore - both garments caked with dried blood - and quickly washed in the basin filled with hot water. Once dressed, she plaited her long hair into two braids, grabbed up her bow and daggers, tucked her lock picks and other tools into her braids, and quickly exited her room.

She had hoped to see her father in the living area of the house; expected to see Shianni, whole and warm, seated by the fire. Perhaps even Soris with his new bride. All she found, however, was an empty room, quiet and bereft of fire or family. Frowning slightly, she made her way to the house's door, stepping out into the Alienage.

Death and decay greeted her as she exited her home, confirming her fears that a great evil had descended upon her childhood home. The orphanage, lying just down the lane and across from her home, resembled little more than a burnt out shell. Bodies lay haphazardly upon the dirt ground, in varying stages of decay. With a strangled cry, the elf turned and fled the area, seeking the gate that led from the Alienage into Denerim's market district.

The gate was locked and no one on the other side would acknowledge her shouts and cries. She looked up, taking in the length of the gate, deciding whether to try to make her escape that direction. She half turned her head, back toward the destruction of the Alienage, and wondered if she should try one of two other exits she knew of. Glaring at the gate, she turned, resolute in her steps, hoping to find a way out of this nightmare she found herself trapped within.

DA:O

The group had found relatively little resistance to their setting up home at the Chantry. A few of the villagers had survived, nearly all of them thanking them profusely for liberating them from the tyranny of Kolgrim and his zealots. The mother of the small boy whom they had met initially even offered them food and other necessities as they set up the Chantry for the winter. Grateful and amazed at the welcome, the companions could only nod their heads in thanks.

That had been almost two weeks ago, and Roland, the Sten and Leliana had just barely made their way down the mountainside before the first of the winter storms hit. Hafter bounded in the snowdrifts happily, and Roland shook his head, thankful that Alistair had allowed the great warhound to accompany them. The knight - no, Warden Recruit - figured that the senior warden felt guilty about sending him away from Adela and so suggested the warhound go with them. Whatever Alistair's motivations, Roland was grateful for the beast's presence. Not only was he a clear tie to Adela, but the dog's fighting abilities would come in handy.

The dog also loved to hunt, as was evident by the numerous half-chewed hares the former knight would find in his pack at night. He sighed at that. He and Hafter had never fully gotten on well, and the dog seemed to take immense pleasure in torturing the poor man. There were times when Roland actually considered the idea that the dog was purposefully trying to upset him, as if he was working against his being with Adela. The trip thus far only succeeded in strengthening that notion.

The small group made good time, and Roland was grateful for that as well. Alistair's parting orders had been for the group to remain at Redcliffe until they had word from him or Adela. If too much time had passed, and the men agreed three weeks after winter's end would be too much time, then Roland could make the decision as to whether to return to Haven or continue collecting on the treaties.

Alistair, apparently still sensing the other man's reluctance, had qualified his decision by telling Roland that not only was he not a wanted man, as he was, but that he was used to being in command. Add to that the fact that, as a fully knighted servant of Highever, he would be considered an honorable source of information, trustworthy to one such as Arl Eamon in relating the situation. He was Fereldan, so he would also not arouse any further suspicions as he traipsed across the country. That the Sten and Leliana were foreigners could be explained away as they were his retainers.

Roland suspected Alistair had a long list and would have continued with his justifications, but the former knight finally put the man's mind at ease by stating that Alistair had made the best decision for everyone concerned. After assuring his friend, and now commander, of his confidence they would regroup at Redcliffe Castle at winter's end, Roland led his band from the village, and out of the mountains.

The air off mountain was less biting, but the snow continued to fall, and they found themselves wading through snow that was several inches deep. Roland frowned. In Highever, they suffered mostly from rain, being so close to the coast, with occasional bouts of snowfall. He had never understood the allure of the snow. Even as a child growing up in the Bannorn, he had never gotten the appeal. Yet here was both Hafter and Leliana bouncing around and skipping through the snow like children. Even the Sten seemed amazed by the fluffy, cold white stuff. The former knight allowed himself a grin. Of course, going from the tropical weather of the island of Seheron to the winters of Fereldan would be a vast change for the giant warrior.

He glanced upwards at the darkening sky. They would need to either find shelter or set up camp for the night soon. Noises to the west told the young man that a homestead was nearby. Motioning for his companions to follow, he led them over a frozen field, toward the small farmhouse, livestock pens and hay barn he spotted. After offering the farmer and his wife a sovereign to be allowed to sleep in the hay barn and to have meals brought to them, Roland went about setting up for the night.

DA:O

Niall gazed around the Chantry, making certain that everything was in its place and that everything had a place. The Chantry had four separate chambers, plus the chapel. Adela had been set up in what they presumed had been Eirick's chambers. The villagers had brought up spare beds and these had been set up in the other three chambers, Niall and Morrigan both insisted that Adela needed her own room to allow for quiet. No one argued, and were more than pleased with their accommodations.

The mage had been amazed at how welcoming the surviving villagers, who obviously those who had not taken part in any of the attacks upon the intruders, had been but also how much like saviors they treated the companions as. The woman, Adelaine, had explained how Kolgrim (she refused to call him Father Kolgrim) would assign the women to the men who had most pleased him. The goal was to produce as many children by that particular man as possible. Her head drooping, she explained how she, herself, had been used to birth five children by different fathers, Kolgrim included, since aged fourteen. The mage was incensed by that thought and then allowed another to come to mind: just how inbred were these poor people?

Adelaine and her son, Josef, were regular visitors to the Chantry. The boy's oddness wore off soon enough the more time he spent with Alistair and the others. Niall grinned. Alistair's easygoing nature had put the introverted boy at ease immediately, and he now followed the large man around like a puppy. Adelaine was particularly pleased, stating that he needed someone to look up to whose entire existence was not based upon violence, destruction and lies. Niall figured that, even with a life as a Grey Warden, Alistair's own philosophy was as far from Kolgrim's as one could get.

Josef was at this moment sitting awestruck as Alistair and Zevran re-told the story of how they defeated the high dragon, the supposed reborn Andraste. The boy's face lit up as Zevran replayed how he had struck his daggers deep into the great skull of the beast. Niall shook his head, smiling at his lover as he turned back toward the chamber wherein Adela lay; Morrigan sitting beside her, reading from one of the non-Chantry issued books they had managed to find.

It had been almost two weeks since the others had left, and still Adela lay in her sleep. He and Morrigan had prepared broths to spoon down her throat to keep her body from wasting away. The Circle mage had to admit that the swamp witch was far more knowledgeable about herbs and potions than he was, and had gladly allowed her to concoct whatever potion she saw fit to keep the young elf alive. Despite the nutrition they managed to get into her, Adela's small frame had lost much of its mass, and the mage was beginning to worry that, if she did not awaken soon, he would need to put her into a magical sleep that would suspend her bodily functions to keep her from wasting away further. He did not wish to take such a step, to do so would only hinder the healing process further.

With a sigh, he went to the cook pit to stir the broth that Morrigan had set to simmer for the elven woman. Adela would need to awaken from her slumber soon.

DA:O

How long it took her to escape from the decimated Alienage Adela could not tell. She had no sense of time, trapped as she was in the Fade. She snorted slightly, wondering if it did her any favors knowing she was in the Fade rather than blissfully wander around in ignorance. She stopped to shake her head. No, best to know what danger she was in rather than wander around forever. Knowing she was in the Fade meant that she would have a chance of finding the escape.

She had passed through the Market District, taking note of the familiar faces therein, people she knew who paused in their actions to silently watch her pass by. The Chantry was all but deserted, and she went through the gates that cordoned off the district to the rest of the city.

She was now passing by the manor of the Arl of Denerim, and a cold shiver washed over her as she stared at the blank façade. This was the Fade; there were no answers to be found herein. Without another thought for the occupants of the manor, she continued onward.

Adela had determined that the Palace was where she would most likely find the exit from the Fade. Her conclusion came from the realization that her most vivid dreams were centered either around the palace itself or around various occupants therein. Loghain was the foremost-centralized figure, but she had dreams of Cailan and Anora as well. She paused as she stared up at the familiar iron wrought gates, her thoughts of concern for the queen nearly overtaking her. A gentle shake of her blond head, and the elven warden passed through the unmanned gates and walked up the marble stairway.

She paused, staring in confusion at the double doors that led into the palace. That they were standing, wide open and torn from their hinges alerted the elf that something was roaming the Fade with her, something not quite friendly. Pulling her daggers free of their sheaths, she stepped into the gray dimness of the palace.

Elven eyes adjusted quickly to the dank darkness she found therein. Her eyes swept over the ruin of the once immaculate receiving area, taking note of the battered stairway and crumbling arches of the various alcoves. She stepped silently into the waiting room that was set up as a mini library. The room was virtually untouched. Frowning, she left the room, keeping into the shadows as she passed each alcove and room to check for any signs of life. Each room, each space gave forth the same result: empty.

She paused by the large double doors that allowed entry deeper into the public areas of the palace. Deciding against that course now, she mounted the stairs, seeking to gain admittance into the private living quarters.

The young elven rogue kept well to the lessons taught by the bard and assassin she traveled with. Keeping well into the shadows, moving as quietly as a shadow herself, she made her way toward Anora's chambers. As she neared the suite of rooms, she could hear the sounds of anguished sobbing. A frown crossed her face and she paused, listening. She had only heard Anora cry is such a heartbreaking manner twice before. The first had been when Loghain had finally declared Maric dead, having been lost at sea over five years ago. Then, a barely teenaged Adela had sat with the young noblewoman as she cried over the loss of king and someone who had been very important in her life. The second time had been when the child of Cailan and Anora had been perished at childbirth. Although there had been at least two other miscarriages, the young prince, Declan, had been born and lived for several minutes after his birth. The king and queen had been heartbroken as they had to sit and hold their young son, waiting as the final breaths left his tiny, ill formed lungs.

Adela did not like the heart wrenching sounds then; she hated them passionately now.

She crept up to the door that she knew opened into Anora's main chamber. The sobbing was directly behind the door. She tried the knob, but it would not move. Crouching, she reached up and pulled her pins from her braid, seeking to pick the lock. She scowled at the door. There was no lock. She rose, examining the door and its frame, trying in vain to ignore the heart wrenching sounds of the queen crying. Running delicate, sensitive fingers over the frame, she realized that it was not a door at all, but simply an impression of a door. Solid marble stood before her.

Resisting the urge to curse, she carefully called out Anora's name. The only reply was further sobs. Glancing about, she risked raising her voice, again calling out the queen's name. Anora's sobs only increased in volume, drowning out the elf's voice. Scowling, Adela turned away, certain she would neither be able to enter the room or get Anora's attention.

She turned about and headed toward the wing wherein lay the suites and study of Loghain. Previous experience suggested she might be able to gain entrance to his rooms.

Skipping lightly over the debris and rubble that was strewn across the floors, Adela made her way toward Loghain's suites. The sounds of male voices, raised in anger or argument, reached her ears. She quickened her pace, arriving just at Loghain's door.

"Ah, Loghain," purred a smooth, cultured voice. The elf frowned. That voice sounded vaguely familiar…"You act ever as the petulant child." She thought she heard a 'tsking' sound. "Be careful. Your commoner roots are showing." That last said with a scathing belittling tone of voice.

Loghain replied in a low, angry voice that the elf recognized all too well. She could not make out what he was saying, and so stepped forward to press one delicate ear to the door. The voices continued, that familiar one nagging at her. It sounded similar to Alistair and Cailan, yet lower, deeper, more like Maric's. She frowned at that. It also had the same sarcastic quality all three men had, yet where their sarcasm came from self-deprecation or a need to make people laugh, this one had a biting quality, an undertone meant to cut and rend the listener. Footsteps alerted her that someone approached the door, and, after a quick glance around, she ducked into a nearby doorway, pressing her slender body against the wood of the door, blending into the shadows as well as she could.

Peeking around the frame, she watched as a blond man, taller and broader than Cailan, but not as large as Alistair, bent to lock the door to Loghain's room. She pressed her hand against her mouth as she caught a brief glance of the man's profile. He then turned and walked away, back toward the direction the elf had come from.

Adela stood there for many moments, trying to digest what she had just seen. That man looked so much like Cailan, more so like Alistair, and almost exactly like Maric that there was no question as to whom he was. At least, who his father was. A sick, empty feeling rumbled in her belly at the thought that Maric had another son running around, this one obviously a foe of Loghain and perhaps Anora as well.

Steadying herself, she stepped toward the door just exited from. Bending low, she pulled a pick from her hair, and began to work at the lock.

DA:O

Alistair stood by the doorway, watching as Niall and Morrigan fed Adela the concoction Morrigan had brewed. The warden had to admit, even Morrigan's potions tasted better than many of the meals he prepared.

Niall glanced up, seeming to take note of the man for the first time. With an encouraging smile, he motioned for Alistair to step in. Sheepishly, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, the young man stepped to the bedside of the elf, gazing down at her still face.

"She remains in a restful sleep," Niall whispered as Morrigan wiped Adela's mouth and then removed the bowl. "I still have no idea why she hasn't awakened yet, nor when she will."

Alistair could almost hear the 'if she will' in Niall's voice. He shook his head, clearing away that thought. Both mages, along with Adelaine and others from the village, had been working to keep the elf alive. Her injuries had all healed, and Niall confirmed that the brain injury she had suffered had corrected itself. They would only know if any lasting damage had been done once the elf woke.

He barely nodded, taking a seat near Adela, pulling it so that he was directly at her side. Niall offered the younger man a soft smile and then left the room to allow them some privacy.

The young human reached over and picked up one of Adela's limp hands in his. He turned it over, marveling at how small her hand was, how long and delicate her fingers, and how pale her skin had become. He placed it palm down into his own palm, taking in just how much bigger he was to her; he thought he could easily fit three of her tiny hands within one of his gigantic paws. He frowned, scowling at his hand. How could he truly expect such a delicate creature to even consider loving someone as gargantuan as himself? He was clumsy, a brute, where she was delicate and graceful, dancing through battles where he merely plunged straight in. He was awkward in all situations that even remotely involved speech, and the elf, one who should be nervous when speaking with others, usually took over what conversation was being held, and could usually turn a dissenting opinion into an acknowledging one.

He sighed, bending down to place a lingering kiss upon her forehead. Regardless of how monstrous he felt next to her, she held his heart within those tiny hands of hers. Remaining bent over her still form, he closed his eyes, shutting off the tears that threatened, offering up a prayer to the Maker for her quick recovery. He missed her. Not for her leadership abilities, but for _her_. He missed her smile, her quiet voice. He missed watching her fingers and hands as she worked on another carving for one of the members of their tight knit group. A hand strayed to the griffon hung around his neck. Moving lower, he placed a kiss upon her cold lips, whispering, "Please return to us, Adela," he cringed at the pleading tone he heard in his voice. "Please return to me." Placing another kiss, he rose, sitting back in his seat as he continued to hold her limp, cold hand in his larger, warmer one.


	32. Chapter 32

_Thanks for the alerts, the favorites, and especially the reviews! Arsinoe de Blassenville, Biff McLaughlin, zevgirl, Eriana10, mutive! I've also noticed a C2 for this story (have no idea what that is!) and that more favorites keep coming up on a near regular basis. Folks, you have no idea how much that means to me. That something came out of my head and folks actually like it? Too cool for words, I tell you!_

_This chapter was very difficult to write. I know it's a little confusing as we follow the whole puzzle solving steps, but hopefully it will make sense in the end. _

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 32_

She could hear shouting and screaming ahead, and pulled her bow from her shoulder as Roland and the Sten pulled their own blades free of sheaths. Hafter crouched low, a deep rumble starting from his chest and escaping quiver lips in a menacing growl. Without a glance to each other, the four raced toward where the sounds of an unbalanced battle came from.

Racing through snow proved slightly daunting for the larger men, but the nimble bard and agile war dog had no such problems. Arriving ahead of the warriors, Leliana took note of the battle as she quickly nocked an arrow, sending it flying at the hurlock closest to the dwarven man who seemed barely able to hold the sword he now wielded. A smaller dwarven male, barely more than a child if she guessed correctly, stood off to the side, firing off a crossbow into the midst of the darkspawn attackers.

Growling, Hafter launched himself at an approaching hurlock, his powerful jaws clamping down, sinking massive teeth into the unarmored flesh of the monster's neck. His weight bore the creature down to the ground, and, with a quick savage shake of his head, tore the throat of the hurlock out. Wasting no further time, the great warhound pushed off the flailing body, leaving the darkspawn to bleed out as he sought another victim.

As Leliana felled three darkspawn, Roland and the Sten barreled their way into the fray. She heard rather than saw Roland's shield impact with the face of an oncoming darkspawn, and the Sten's great war cry echoed off the naked trees surrounding them. An arrow planted into the eye of the hurlock fast approaching her, and she twisted, nocking another arrow as she targeted on another foe.

The young dwarf held his own against the darkspawn, gleefully shooting bolt after bolt into any that approached him or the older dwarf. The one holding the sword seemed to have recovered from his fright and, perhaps bolstered by the arrival of skilled reinforcements, started to whittle away at the hurlock that taunted him.

An arrow whizzed by, embedding itself deeply into the chest of a hurlock the bard had not noticed. Confused, she retraced the arrow's trajectory, somewhere deep into the surrounding trees. Skilled eyes scanned for any movement or shape, but could not discern any. Frowning, not about to curse her savior, the bard turned back to the fray, firing off shot after shot with skill, mindful of any other foreign arrows that sped into their midst.

The battle, if it could truly be called that, was over in mere minutes. The four accomplished killers of darkspawn looked around, satisfied that all were dead. The bard shook her head; they would need to build a pyre and burn the bodies before they continued. If Adela learned they simply left bodies unattended to blight the land…

The bard sighed, trying to shake herself of the melancholy she felt when her thoughts shifted to the elf. Adela was strong, she reassured herself as she slipped her bow back over her shoulder and stepped to join Roland's side. The former knight stood in front of the dwarves, talking the situation with them.

"Mighty timely arrival, my friend," the dwarf spoke in friendly, genuine tones, the younger one gazing up at Roland in near hero worship. "Mighty timely. Name's Bodahn Feddic. This here," he gestured toward the young dwarf. "Is my son, Sandal." He smiled up at the three as they stood in a protective semi-circle around the dwarves and their wagon.

Roland bowed his head slightly. "I'm Warden Roland," Ser Gilmore apparently decided to take the title of Warden rather than Recruit. Leliana grinned at that. "These are Leliana," the bard offered her sweetest smile, and both dwarves responded with pleasant ones of their own, "and the Sten." The giant merely offered the slightly of glances, his eyes going back to their scanning of their surroundings.

"Warden, eh?" Bodahn's pleasant demeanor took on an even more respectful mien. "An honor, absolute honor to make your acquaintance."

Leliana almost giggled when she saw the blush come across Roland's features. "Well, I'm merely a recruit at this time," he just could not allow it to lie, she thought.

"Recruit or not, the Wardens are a well respected organization," Bodahn responded with a smile. "The only surfacer order that understands on any level the true nature of the darkspawn."

After taking a few minutes to talk further, whereupon they learned that the Feddic men were merchants without a clear destination, the group, aided by supplies from the merchant's wagon, set about building a pyre and set the bodies of the darkspawn ablaze. By the time the final embers failed, it was decided that Bodahn and Sandal would accompany the group to Redcliffe, there to either wait out the storms or plot a new route that avoided the darkspawn held south.

As the dwarven pair turned to repack their wagon, Leliana pulled Roland aside, leading him to where the alien arrow remained, embedded in the darkspawn's chest. His red brow furrowed as he tore the projectile free, studying the length and fletch - green and white - of the missile. Leliana noted a confused look cross his face, and decided to question him further once they were safely away or carefully ensconced at Redcliffe.

DA:O

The lock was difficult to pick, but her efforts were rewarded by the clicking sounds of the tumblers falling into place. Rising, she twisted the brass knob, breathing a sigh of relief when it twisted, unlatching the door. With a quick glance around, Adela stepped into the room, pulling the door quietly shut behind her.

Her eyes did a quick scan of the room, noting that a warm fire blazed in the fireplace, and that at the table laden with food sat the bowed figure of Loghain. A frown crossed her face as she paced her way to stand at the opposite end of the table. If he heard her approach, the man made no sign of it.

"Loghain," Adela quietly said, remaining in place, not wanting to approach the man. The Teyrn raised his head from his hands, staring up at the astonished elf.

Loghain looked…horrible. His skin had taken on a yellow pallor and his face was etched with more lines than she ever recalled being there. Worry had mapped its way across his normally stoic features, and she noted that his face was thinner than usual. His hair, normally dark, glossy and neatly in place, fell in lank locks about his face. His clothing were rumpled; his posture slumped. Yet his eyes remained as they always were: alert, clear, intelligent and scrutinizing.

"Loghain," the elf repeated her eyes full of sympathy for her old friend. "What has happened to you?"

Those same eyes narrowed slightly as they scanned the young elf from head to foot. "The same may be said of you, Adela," he said gruffly, obviously taking note of the thinner lines the elf's body had taken.

She frowned, offering a slight shrug. "I fell to a high dragon," she offered as explanation, watching as Loghain's eyes widened slightly. "Not that I think I'm dead." Her own blue eyes, deep and penetrating, gazed around his room. "Strange," she murmured as she stepped around, noting that the once nearly empty book shelf now housed several volumes, mostly containing Fereldan history. "The palace seems to be in ruins, and yet your room remains intact." Her eyes settled upon Loghain once more, taking in the surprised expression upon his face.

Loghain remained silent, watching as the elven woman took in the condition of him and his room. Her eyes settled upon his fully, watching as he sat silently. A thought came to her mind, and a frown formed between her brows.

"Who was that man I saw leaving your chambers?" she asked as she took the chair opposite the silent man.

A fierce scowl formed upon Loghain's face, and Adela was actually pleased to see some of Loghain's strength come through at last. "That," he spat, leaning forward, his eyes intense and set upon the elf's, "is Arawn."

"Another son of Maric?"

Apparently, her perceptiveness surprised Loghain for his brows shot up. With a slow nod, he replied, "Indeed."

She could not stifle down the bitter disappointment she felt for the dead monarch; the man who had been briefly a friend and a link to her mother's past, the man who had been their king, who had liberated them from Orlais, and ruled as best as he could. The bitterness was tinged, she knew, with the knowledge that Alistair had been all but abandoned, and he had been conceived and birthed long after Queen Rowan's death. This one, this _Arawn_, appeared to be of an age to Cailan, which meant that Maric had an affair _during _his noble queen's life. She knew her own disappointment well; it was reflected in Loghain's eyes, even now, after he had lived with this knowledge for so long.

Given what she had seen thus far, heard, and witnessed, Adela believed that Niall was correct. Staring at the Teyrn, she reached over and placed her small hands upon his, clasped before him tightly. His pale blue eyes shifted downward, staring at her tiny hands.

"This is your prison, isn't it?" she finally asked, startling him out of his reverie. She continued to watch his reaction. He slowly raised his head, his eyes once again meeting her own. When he did not reply, she continued. "Niall, one of the mages I travel with, is convinced that I am Fade sensitive." She shrugged, giving a slight laugh. "He's amazed and keeps hounding me to let him test the theory." She leaned forward, brushing a hand across Loghain's face. He blinked, but remained silent. "I'm thinking that I don't need to do that."

She leaned back in her chair, frowning. "So, what, exactly, is Arawn up to?"

The fire in the fireplace crackled, the only sound in the room for several moments. Loghain was obviously fighting against his nature to remain silent and not to give in to what he obviously believed was a mere illusion. Adela silently scolded herself for not noticing before how much like Sloth's Fade this felt like. The complete awareness, the lack of the dreamy unreality of it all. She felt like she was, physically, sitting in Loghain's rooms, and she quickly squelched the thought that rose to her mind of _other _dreams. After all, since that time she had found herself dreaming and thinking of a different man entirely.

Yet, here sat Loghain, a prisoner, obviously, and not some simulacrum created by a malevolent denizen of the Fade. His haggard appearance and stoic silence, told her that this was Loghain. Trapped in a torment that he could not break free of.

After a time, Loghain finally spoke, and told the elf, in detail, what he knew of Arawn. She was surprised how much Loghain knew of the man himself, but how little he could tell her of Anora's well being, the occurrences in the Alienage, and the general state of the nation as it faced a Blight. For her part, Adela told Loghain as little as possible, merely confirming that she and Alistair yet lived, and were working on gathering allies in an attempt to stop the Blight.

Loghain pressed for her location. She shook her head, "I can't tell you, Loghain." She frowned at the scowl that formed on his face. "If you are being controlled by this maleficar, then it is possible he will be able to get this information from you." She tilted her head slightly at him. "We just cannot risk that." The Teyrn's face settled somewhat, nodding his agreement.

"Do you truly believe this is a Blight?" the Teyrn asked, his eyes sharp, the haggard look upon his face easing slightly.

With a firm nod, Adela responded, "The skies have not yet blighted," she replied confidently, "but I believe that, by winter's end, more physical signs, other than the darkspawn running around the countryside, will be evident."

The chair creaked as Loghain settled back, never taking his eyes from Adela's face. "Neither Cailan or I truly believed that this was a Blight," he conceded, his voice rough and gravely. "It seems that we may have been wrong."

"Does this Arawn believe it is a Blight?" Adela asked, a frown forming on her lips. If this blood mage did not believe it was a Blight, then they would continue to be fighting two fronts. Loghain's response was a mere shrug of his broad shoulders.

Adela rose and began pacing the floor. So, Loghain was not acting against them, but was some blood mage's puppet. She had seen blood magic at work - both at Redcliffe and then again at Haven. Growing up, she had heard stories and rumors about how a mage could control a person, and that was the reasoning behind the Chantry's imprisonment of all mages. Her feet stopped, and she turned to study Loghain.

During their visit, his appearance had become less haggard and more resilient. He sat still, watching her. "Have you tried to leave your rooms recently?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Once," he admitted, his eyes searching the girl's face. "I had awoken after the last dream I had of you," she felt her face heat in a flush, and Loghain's dark brow rose. "The door, of course, was locked."

"How about here?" she pressed, ignoring her embarrassment, hoping Loghain did not notice.

"I saw no reason to attempt it since my earlier days spent in this prison," he admitted.

Dumbfounded, she stood there, staring at her friend. "Maybe I was wrong," she finally stated, more heat in her voice than she intended. "Perhaps this is just a dream. After all, the Loghain I know would _never _just give up on a possible escape!" These last words came out as a hiss between her teeth, and she was surprised at how angry she was at him.

"What escape?" Loghain asked, rising to his feet, yet maintaining a calm that surprised the elf.

"There is always a way out of the Fade," Adela explained just as calmly, letting her initial anger and disappointment fade. "That's why demons and other Fade denizens will work so hard to keep you in one place. Because if left on our own, we will eventually find the exit, and, once in the prime plane, they can't touch those of us who are not mages."

"You can't be Adela," Loghain remarked. "How would you know so much about the Fade?"

"Niall has been instructing me since I pulled him free of the Circle Tower," she admitted smugly. "Since he's convinced I am Fade sensitive he's been almost fanatical about my learning as much as possible so that I won't get trapped." She tilted her head at Loghain. "Come on," she held her hand out to him, gesturing him to follow. "I think that it's time for you to start seeking your own exit."

She turned away from him, not waiting to find out if he would, indeed, follow. She opened the door, relieved that the corridors continued to remain empty. She heard Loghain move behind her, and she hid a grin. Without a word, she stepped into the hallway, glancing up and down the length of it before turning to where she knew Loghain's study stood.

The man's firm steps resounded behind her, and she was glad that he did not question her decision but merely followed. She was certain this was Loghain; his time trapped in the Fade, loosing so much of him to the blood mage, and being isolated from everything and everyone else had taken its toll on the stubborn man.

They found his study to be in the same shape as his room - untouched, unscathed, completely as it appeared in reality. Loghain headed straight for his desk while Adela roamed the room, staring at the maps she had stared at since childhood. She could hear Loghain rummage through papers in the drawers of his desk, but did not stop to ask what he was looking for. He had obviously gotten over his idea that being the Fade made him helpless. She paused in front of an old map, one that detailed a Fereldan as it was drawn out at the time of the Silver Knight, Calenhad. This had always been her favorite, with Highever being the only discernable feature. However, the elegant sweeps of quill gave her an insight as to the ancient cartographer's idea of how Fereldan appeared. A bit unrealistic, with larger land mass and higher mountains, but lovely none the less.

She noticed that the shuffling of paper ceased, and she turned to find Loghain holding a piece of parchment in his hand. Frowning, curious, the elf stepped closer, staring at the paper.

It appeared blank to her. She raised questioning eyes to Loghain. His face is still, stoic, but she thought she could see a hint of despair therein as well. Whatever he had expected to be on that paper was gone.

"This is the Fade," she reminded the man as he tossed the parchment down upon the desk. "Most of what is here are from your own memories. You," she pointed a finger at him. "brought me here. The palace as it is…Anora in her chambers…they are all a result of your own mind telling you what is happening, even if you cannot see it or remember it." She glanced down at the parchment, frowning. "What was on the parchment?" she asked.

Loghain scowled at it. "You recall Maric's adventure with the Grey Wardens, the one that caused a whole slew of things to happen," she smiled weakly at that. The Grey Wardens being allowed back into Fereldan; Maric's rejuvenated rule of Fereldan; his frequent communications with the Grey Wardens…

"Of course," she replied, "it was one of Maric's favorite stories to tell me."

Loghain turned to the girl. "I was placed as regent during his little escapades. Each time he felt the need to go off away from the throne, away from _his duties_, he would saddle me with the responsibilities. When he went on that fool voyage…" his voice trailed off as he got lost in memories, recalling how, months after the reports that the vessel he had been on had been lost, wreckage found along a string of islands, he had to call the Landsmeet that would start the process of putting Cailan on the throne. He bent his head down, sorrow and grief suddenly flooding his senses.

He felt Adela's hand on his arm, tugging at him. "Stop that, Loghain," she scolded harshly. "That's how Arawn retains hold on you. Your memories, grief, regrets…powerful emotions that the mage can latch onto, weaken you as you weaken yourself."

Dark head rose, blue eyes settled upon the determined features of the little elven Warden. He smirked. "So it would seem," he admitted, glancing back at the empty page. "That," he indicated the sheet, "held instructions of which I was to follow, as regent, to secure the throne for Anora, should Cailan predecease her." He shook his head. "I have no idea why the page would be blank now."

Staring at the page, her mind working through the puzzle, Adela found herself at a loss. "Maybe it's because you can't remember," she offered quietly, lifting her gaze. "Since this prison is of your making…"

But Loghain shook his head. "No, I don't believe that's it," he corrected, moving away from the desk, taking up the pacing where Adela had left off. "There's something we are both overlooking." He stopped and turned, staring at the elf. "This is a prison Arawn created to toss me into whenever he used my body as a puppet to rule as regent, or for those times when I was unneeded in any sense and he would lock me away in my chambers." He stepped forward, taking the parchment from Adela's hand, staring at it. "This could mean that either Arawn was not aware of these instructions…"

Ice coursed in her veins as she realized Loghain's train of thought, "Or he had already found the instructions and was implementing them himself."

Loghain scowled. "To what end?" he demanded, throwing the page down once more.

Adela shook her head. "To what end, indeed," she said, unconsciously mimicking Loghain. "After all, Anora was crowned Queen, not Queen-Consort. Upon Cailan's death, she would retain the throne and rule of Fereldan."

"With the approval of the Landsmeet," the commoner-turned-noble reminded the young elf with a frown. Loghain turned and sat down, his scowl deepening, creating great lines in his face. "There are those in the Landsmeet who would love nothing more than to see anyone else on that throne other than someone of commoner blood." He frowned. "There had been an attempt once to place Bryce Cousland upon the throne. The same could occur again."

Adela scoffed at that. After all, didn't all of the nobles in Fereldan start as commoners at one time in their history? "Unfortunately, Bryce Cousland is dead," she frowned at the surprised look Loghain cast her. "We found a survivor of Howe's treachery." Loghain merely nodded, trying to come to terms that the little elf seemed to know quite a bit of what was occurring.

"Loghain," Adela stepped to stand in front of the seated man. "We know that this Arawn is seeking power for himself. That he's Maric's son gives him some power, although his being a mage makes his direct ascension to the throne problematic. Is it possible that he seeks to force a marriage between himself and Anora?"

"You said it yourself, Adela," Loghain replied quietly, "he is a mage. Mages cannot assume titles, even if that mage is the son of a king."

"I usually disagree with the Chantry's treatment of others, but in this case, I'm rather glad they made that particular law." A long finger tapped against her chin. "Have you any feel that he may be forcing another under his control to marry Anora?"

"Howe would be a logical choice," Loghain grudgingly admitted, "He is now the Teyrn of Highever, second only to the king. If he married Anora, I doubt many in the Landsmeet would oppose such a pairing. And, he is allied with the bastard."

"There are still too many holes, too much missing for that to be an adequate theory," the elf shook her head, sighing heavily. "The first thing you need to do, Loghain, is to learn this prison's exits. Once you can start freeing yourself from the Fade you can start to fight against the blood mage's control of yourself."

They both fell silent, trying to digest too much in such a small frame of time. Loghain broke the silence.

"You must return now, Adela," he said firmly. When she looked up at him in confusion, he clarified, "By the looks of you, you are wasting away by remaining here. If I'm the one that called you here, then I am releasing you." She looked about to protest and he persisted. "I promise to look for these exits you tell me exist. I will seek ways to strengthen myself against both the imprisonment and blood control. However, you need to continue fighting against the Blight as you have been." he stepped forward, placing both hands on her shoulders. "I could never forgive myself if you remained and continued to waste away, to die."

She felt something loosen at her core, and she frowned slightly, and then realized that Loghain was releasing her. Looking up into his face, she remarked, "Well done, Loghain. It seems that you do believe that this is truly me." She smiled at the smirk that crossed his features. "The more you explore, the more you challenge things here," she waved a hand to indicate their surroundings, "the easier it will be for you to find the exits."

Loghain bent down, touching his lips lightly to hers. "Just wake up, Adela," he whispered, stepping back to watch as the elf faded from view.

Alone once again, but feeling more empowered than he had since before Ostagar, the Teyrn left his study to begin his first exploration of the palace.

DA:O

He spent most of his time by her side, watching for any signs that she would awaken. But, as more time passed, the more the others needed him - his leadership, attention and muscle. So, the less time he spent where his heart lay.

They had cleared out the Chantry of most of the unpleasant evidence of the cult; bodies had been burned, a proper service performed for those who died. Once the Chantry had been made livable, they had then turned their attention toward the village. Winter had hit hard and fast, and many of the dead had been the men folk, leaving behind only a few men, most of the women and all of the children. Not an overwhelming number, a few dozen at best. Zevran spent much time away from the village hunting, bringing his catch back to the village for distribution. Alistair helped consolidate households, forgoing the smaller homes on the outskirts of the village and bringing in several families to the larger homes closer to the Chantry. Roofs were repaired, door latches secured, windows fully shuttered, firewood chopped and stacked at each dwelling. Niall and Morrigan, on shifts, would gather what herbs remained blooming before the frost took them and made certain that various potions and poultices were created and on hand.

This day found Alistair atop a roof, whipping his head about in order to keep it free from the flurrying snow, as he made slight repairs to the home's chimney. Some of the bricks had come loose and, not wanting to risk a chimney fire, he took the task in hand and made the repairs. Some discomfort was well worth the knowledge that the two families dwelling therein would remain safe and warm.

Quickly scampering down the ladder, he poked his head in through the front door to let Selena, the eldest woman of the village, know that the repairs had been made and he was heading back to the Chantry. Shaking her head, she pressed two loaves of fresh baked peasant bread into his hands, bidding him a fair evening as she turned to stir the rabbit stew. Grinning, appreciating the smell of the fresh baked bread, Alistair gently closed and latched the door before turning uphill to the Chantry.

About half way up he encountered Zevran, just back from a very successful hunt. The elf reported he had managed to supply each household with three rabbits, more than enough for a stew that would last the household a few days. Clapping the smaller man on the shoulder, Alistair hurried up the hill, anxious to get out of the blustering snowfall.

Snow fluttered in through the doors as Alistair and Zev entered the Chantry, creating a tiny hurricane of the fluttery stuff. Pulling the doors closed, Alistair shook out his fur lined cape before removing it, hanging it upon the hooks nearby. Stomping his feet to clear them of snow, the large man presented Morrigan with the loaves, continuing on his way to Adela's room.

His hands brushed quickly through his hair, now damp from the melted snow. His light brown eyes settled upon Adela's form, and he paused, really looking at her. Her color seemed to be pinker than it had been, and he was certain she was in a different position, more to her right side now rather than flat on her back. Then, thinking perhaps either Niall or Morrigan had shifted her to prevent bed sores, he stepped closer, taking his customary seat by her side, picking up her hand to hold in his.

Again he paused, staring at the tiny appendage in his hand. Her hand was definitely warmer than it had been.

"Wishful thinking," he muttered to himself, his eyes fixed upon her hand, giving it a slight squeeze.

"What's wishful thinking?" came a soft, hoarse question from the side.

His head whipped around, eyes fixing upon Adela's face, watching in disbelief as her eyelids fluttered open. It took her several moments before her eyes could fix upon the man seated beside her, but once they had, a wide, soft smile crossed her face.

"Alistair?" she whispered, blinking rapidly.

Unable to speak, Alistair fell to his knees, scooping the elf into his arms, hugging her tightly against him. Adela chuckled softly, a hand raising to weakly brush against his shoulder.

"Not too tightly, Alistair," she protested, her voice painfully weak.

"Sorry, sorry," he said as he loosened his grip, caught between laughing and crying. His body seemed to think itself capable of both and he found tears falling down his cheeks as he laughed. "You've had us all scared, you know," he playfully scolded the elf, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. "You had me scared."

"I'm sorry," the elf apologized, exhaustion heavy in her voice.

Alistair raised his head, watching as Niall, Morrigan and Zevran entered the room. Grinning like a fool, Alistair proceeded to inform their friends that Adela was awake. Zevran laughed while both mages merely shook their heads, both approaching, scolding Alistair to release her so that they could examine her. Reluctantly, the human released her, easing her gently upon the pillows, watching as the mages sent their searching magic into the girl. Adela's eyes, heavy, fluttered closed, and her breathing relaxed, falling into a soft rhythm. A slight wave of panic hit Alistair and Morrigan assured him that she was fine, that even though she had been unconscious for weeks, her body was still quite tired.

Nodding his head, Alistair could only offer up his silent prayers of thanks to the Maker as Morrigan shifted Adela's position, a slight, gentle smile across her lips.


	33. Chapter 33

_Thanks to everyone for their wonderful reviews: Nithu, tgail73, Arsinoe de Blassenville, mutive, Eriana10_

_As always, this is not canon. And, as of yet, BioWare has not seen reason and signed over this universe and all properties over to me. Harrumph! How rude! _

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 33_

She was comfortable, more comfortable than she could remember. Snuggling deeper into the warm, soft mattress, she tried hard to ignore the sounds that flowed softly yet persistently along her peripheral senses. There it was again! Resisting the urge to cover her head with her pillow, the elven woman slowly opened her eyes.

It was still quite dark in the room, and looking around, she saw that no one else was awake. The fire in the fireplace was starting to die down, and she frowned, thinking she would need to rise and place some more wood on the fire, but knowing full well everyone would likely be upset that she took it upon herself to do so. With a shrug, she weakly rose, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Clad in a long nightshirt, the chill air sent shivers up her bare legs.

There was that noise again! She lifted her eyes from her feet, scanning her room. Wait? Was that…_Alistair_? Yes, sure enough, the young warden was what could only barely be described as seated in the room's sole cushioned chair, his red-gold head tilted back against the back of the chair. Eyes closed, mouth wide open, his arms resting upon the armrests, his legs and feet splayed out upon the floor. And that Maker's awful noise was him snoring!

Giggling, she sat there, simply taking in the view of the handsome man by the dim light of the fire. Over the months, his close cropped hair had grown out slightly, and now tickled along the tips of his ears and down his neck. She was actually quite glad it had grown out from the cow lick at the front (that he had so painfully maintained during their early days together) to sweep lightly to the side, curling around his face just slightly. She felt a slight quiver in her belly as she watched Alistair's eyelids flutter slightly, and then he shifted, his arms crossing over his chest as he tried to find another comfortable position to sleep in, twisting down, his shoulder resting firmly against the chair's backing.

Shaking her head, the elf pushed herself from the bed, rising unsteadily to her feet. She was grateful that Morrigan and Niall had foreseen the need to keep her muscles and joints from atrophying and had insisted upon exercising her limbs even while she was unconscious. These past few days had been spent mostly in bed, but with either Morrigan or Niall as they slowly worked to rehabilitate her limbs. Although she lacked strength, at least she wasn't also fighting stiff muscles and joints, or complete immobility.

Scowling briefly down at her feet, she willed them to move forward. Hesitantly, with small steps, she made her way over to the chair. Sighing, she placed her hands on the now vacant armrest of the chair, and gently lowered herself to the floor.

"Alistair," she whispered, placing a small hand upon his thick forearm, giving a gentle shake. He snorted in reply, twisting slightly under her hand. She smiled, brushing a hand up and over his face, thumbing gently at the small scar at the corner of his mouth.

Again she called out his name, raising her voice, still very weak from non-use, giving him another shake. Slowly, those wonderful eyes opened, hazy with confusion and sleep. He twisted his head around, his gaze finally resting upon the kneeling elf.

"Adela?" he whispered, rising in his seat, his brow furrowed. "What are you doing out of bed?"

Smiling at him, she shrugged. "You were snoring," she responded with a giggle, poking him in the chest with one slender finger. "And you did not look very comfortable sleeping there."

He blinked, then turned his attention to the fire. "Oh, the fire needs some wood," he said as he pushed himself upright, pulling Adela to her feet and planting her onto the now vacant chair as he moved to the fire.

"Alistair," Adela called as he settled logs upon the coals. "Have you been sleeping here every night?"

He shrugged, paying close attention to what he was doing at the fireplace. Adela shook her head. "Don't you have your own room?"

Turning, he offered her a wide grin, then bent to lift her gently into his arms. There was that flutter again, only more intense as she felt his strong arms wrap around her. "I do," he admitted as he deposited her just as gently onto her bed. "But, it's not really quite set up." He rubbed a hand to the back of his neck, obviously embarrassed by that admission.

Smiling up at him, she shifted over onto the bed. It was huge, much bigger than a cot, bigger than the bed she had at home in Denerim. "Why is your room not 'quite set up' yet?" She asked, smoothing the blankets over her. "We've been here for weeks." The bed shifted slightly as Alistair's weight settled upon it.

He shrugged again, his eyes shifting to her hands. He then placed one of his hands atop hers, and began to gently rub the back of her hand with a finger. "Been too busy during the day," She recalled him and the others telling her about how they had settled in the village. "And at night…well…I just wanted to make sure that you'd be alright. So, I just…kind of…settled in here."

"You should have had a bed set up in here, then," she pointed out, her free hand waving to indicate the size of the room. "This room is big enough for three or four beds."

"Ha," he chuckled slightly, "never really thought of that." His eyes fixed upon hers. "I suppose you'd rather I go somewhere else, then?" he asked, a hint of something in his voice Adela could not quite identify.

Her blue eyes blinked, and she felt her ears heat up slightly. Glad it was fairly dark in the room, save for the weak light put out by the fireplace, she was fairly certain she was blushing. Shaking her head, she patted the empty space by her. "You could…always settle in here," not only were her ears heating up, but she felt a pressure in her head and her chest constricted slightly.

Alistair paused, staring at her. "You sure about that?" he asked quietly.

"Of course, silly," she responded, trying to sound light and carefree. "It's not like we've never slept next to each other before."

"Heh, you're right," he said. Then his eyes searched her face a bit longer and then he nodded. Turning, he toed his boots from his feet, and then slid under the blankets next to the elf. He turned to face her, making certain that she was covered. Then, as though an after thought, he pulled her against him, pulling one of her arms across his chest as he brought his hand up to cradle the back of her head.

Her heart was now fully pounding, and she was certain Alistair could feel it. Letting out a deep, long sigh, she relaxed against his strong chest, reveling in the feel of his hand stroking the back of her head, feeling his warm breath fluttering the wispy hairs along her forehead. The gentle motion of his hand relaxed her, and she fell back into a restful, nightmare free slumber.

DA:O

The next day dawned bright, the snow fall having stopped to offer the inhabitants of the diminished village a respite in the wintry weather. Adela was now seated in the chair Alistair had vacated the night prior, a woolen blanket draped over her knees, a bowl of porridge held in one hand as she slowly spooned the cereal to her mouth.

She had been impressed and amazed at the progress that had been done. She had teased Alistair lightly about how he was a natural leader and that she should take vacations more often. Alistair protested, strongly and loudly, demanding that she never put him in such a position again, that _those _kinds of vacations sent him in a near tizzy. Promising to do her best, she allowed him to settle her comfortably in the chair while he and the others bustled around with their usual morning chores.

Later that day found her tucked back into bed, numerous pillows piled behind her to help her retain a comfortable seated position. Alistair, forgoing his chair, sat cross legged upon the bed, telling her about the surviving villagers, sending Roland and the others off with the Ashes, and their plans for the winter.

Plans which mostly consisted of keeping the villagers safe and getting Adela back to full strength. She had only awakened a few days prior, and while healthier than either Niall or Morrigan had expected, there was a great weakness throughout her body, and she found herself tiring very quickly.

Now, fully ensconced in her bed, listening to Alistair, she found herself shaking her head, a long sigh escaping her lips.

Grinning sheepishly, she turned toward Alistair. "I feel a little embarrassed," she answered his questioning gaze. "To have to be tended to for everything while I was unconscious…being so weak and useless now…" she shrugged her shoulders, letting Alistair shift the pillow behind her as she pushed herself further into a seated position. "I haven't felt this helpless since I was a small child."

Chuckling, Alistair brushed her cheek with one large hand. "We're all helpless as children, Adela." he said warmly.

"Yes, I know. But, I was a particularly sickly child and found myself more often than not confined to a bed," she murmured.

Alistair frowned slightly at that. "What do you mean?" he asked.

There was a slight shrug of her shoulders, and her eyes drifted around her room, taking in the archways that separated the various sections of the room that had once been used by one of the cult's leaders.

"I was very sickly as a baby," she said, turning to settle her eyes upon Alistair's concerned, open face. "I was born too early, and had nearly died at birth." she chuckled slightly. "I remember Mamae and Papa telling me how precious I was, that I was their little miracle, and then they'd bundle me up against the cold. I never even touched snow until I had seen six winters." Her eyes shifted away from him, hiding. "I've been told that's why I'm as small as I am; most elven women stand taller than I. Mamae was very tall, taller than many men, almost as tall as a human man. And a warrior, so as soon as I was of an age, she began to train me with weapons. I never really had the strength for swords, so she gave me her old daggers." She smiled I memory. "Mamae never seemed ashamed of me, merely kept training me at my own pace, encouraging me…" her voice trailed off sadly, the memory of her mother still strong after all these years.

The young human was astonished. To think that he may never have met Adela…that she may never had survived childhood? "Did you have any brothers or sisters?" he asked instead, turning her thoughts away from her confined childhood.

"I did," she said, then clarified. "Well, I would have. Papa had been married before he met Mamae. During the occupation. He had a lovely wife and two sons." A sad expression crossed her face. "When Meghren learned that elves had joined Maric's rebellion, he had ordered a purge of the Alienages - all of them throughout Fereldan. Papa's wife and youngest son perished. A few years later, his eldest son broke into the palace, seeking revenge." She sighed. "He was killed before he made it passed the kitchens."

She could remember the sadness that crossed her father's face when he had told her of his first wife and her brothers. _Brothers_! At that time, she had so dearly wanted a brother or a sister. Soris was great; he was like a big brother, but, he had his own mother and father, and then Shianni came along and he was _her _big brother. Then, after her mother died, Adela suddenly found herself in the position of being the guardian of the children of the Alienage.

"Mamae had trouble carrying a child in pregnancy," she continued in a small voice. "She had lost several babies before I was born, and then afterwards…she couldn't have any at all." She smiled up at Alistair, an expression that did not reach her eyes. "I almost feel sorry for my father. With my being a Grey Warden, chances are likely he won't even be able to have grandchildren."

A tightness gripped Alistair's gut. "Well," he said, smiling a bit sadly. "Two Wardens together almost never have children. But, chances are a bit better if one of the parents is a non-Warden. So, if you were to be with someone who wasn't a Warden, you may be able to have children."

A strange expression crossed Adela's face, one Alistair could not recognize. A combination of confusion, sadness and something else. But, she remained silent, picking listlessly at the fuzz from her blanket. Then, with a sigh, she settled back upon her pillows, offering her fellow warden as bright a smile as she could.

"So, fearless leader," she teased, enjoying the color that flooded Alistair's face. "What are the plans for today."

Before he could respond, especially to the abrupt change in topic, Morrigan sauntered into the room, a steaming bowl of _something _held easily in her long, elegant hands. "The plans for you, Adela," the witch replied as Alistair rose to allow room for her to settled next to Adela. "Are to eat, rest and recover." The elf frowned heavily at the bowl in the witch's hands.

"What is that?" the elf asked with trepidation. While Morrigan tried to make her concoctions taste somewhat palatable, they still retained a rather mediciny flavor and feel to them. Sometimes, regardless of how they tasted, the texture alone was enough to touch on the girl's gag reflex.

And this concoction did not even smell pleasant.

"This," the witch smirked at the elf, "is a soup that will help to build your muscles back up." She handed it over and Adela took it, albeit hesitantly.

Both women ignored the grinning smirk on Alistair's face as he resumed his place in what had become known as _Alistair's Chair_.

Tentatively, Adela brought the spoon to her lips, her face pursing up as she swallowed the first spoonful. "That is awful, Morrigan!" she hissed out between her teeth, glaring at the witch, who merely watched, that damnably smug expression upon her face.

"Hmmm? Oh, 'tis true the taste leaves much to be desired," she acknowledged, rising. "However, if you are to regain your strength, and quickly, you will need to continue following my instruction, as well as Niall's. Eventually, you will be able to rise from the bed for longer periods of time. I am certain that, eventually, you shall regain your strength enough to resume sparring." She stood there a moment, one elegant brow quirked up, that haughty smirk the elf had become very familiar with gracing her lovely face. Their eyes met, a duel of will. However, Adela was tired, whereas Morrigan excelled in these kind of confrontations. With a graceful wave, she pointed a hand toward the bowl, that brow remaining up, the smirk not leaving.

With a sigh, knowing well that she wasn't going to win any battles today, the elf began to spoon the awful concoction into her mouth.

DA:O

The Sten took point, his massive frame an easy landmark against the blinding snow. Rather than picking up his feet, he swept them forward, clearing a narrow path for the two humans to trudge along. The war beast needed no such assistance as he bounded along beside the great giant, happily barking as snow swept up into his face.

The Sten snorted, allowing a tiny smirk to cross his normally stoic features. The beast had proven a reliable ally; what harm in allowing him a moment of revelry? After all, regardless of how intelligent he was, he was still yet a beast.

The Qunari warrior glanced back at his human companions, a slight nod at their progress before he turned forward. The male had not surprised him overly much with his stamina and perseverance through the snow storms and difficult travel conditions. In fact, the Sten had expected no less of him. The female, however, had pleasantly surprised him. He had expected complaints and delays from the chantry sister, but she had displayed a remarkable ability to adapt to the most adverse of situations, and had not slowed their journey down as expected.

He snorted slightly at the sight of the dwarven merchant's wagon that rattled along behind the warriors.

The Sten was beginning to think that, with the group the Elven Warden had gathered, they may well have a chance to defeat the Blight.

Now, if only they could locate the Archdemon, then this could all be concluded.

DA:O

Pulling her fur cloak tighter against her slender form, Leliana continued to hum the melody she had been working on for, well, for years really. Now that she had an adventure to put words to the music, she had resumed her work on it with fervor.

The Sten made a marvelous plow, she giggled as she lifted her head and watched the huge man plow through the snow drifts. Roland marched directly behind the Qunari warrior, his eyes ever alert, scanning the surrounding area. She was certain that, although he was prancing and pouncing along in the snow, Hafter was as aware of their surroundings as any of his two legged companions.

Then, as one, all four of the companions paused, heads lifted, eyes scanning the area. The rattling of the wagon behind them stopped as Bodahn pulled the matched pair of oxen to a halt.

Leliana pulled her bow from her shoulder, nocking an arrow, and then sighting along her arm as she pivoted about, eyes narrowed slightly as she searched the area. They had all felt it, the unnatural silence. And, there was a smell, one the Orlesian bard had become far too accustomed to.

Blood. Coppery, iron, tainted. It was faint, but certainly was present. She watched as Roland waved off to his right and then Sten, with a nod, plowed off in that direction. Roland glanced back at the bard and, with a nod, turned to his left to scout.

She could hear the dwarves rummaging around behind her, pulling out crossbows and tightening the lever back as they set their bolts. The bard had never even learned how to use one of the dwarven made weapons; although they had more power than a standard short or long bow, they were slower to reload as it took strength to crank the projector back. She also felt that using the weapon put the archer in a more compromising position - with a bow the archer remained standing straight, alert; using the crossbow tended to bend the posture, allowing the eyes to leave the surrounding areas and thus make it possible for a foe to sneak up on you. The bard also far preferred to pepper her enemies with arrows, stinging them as a swarm of bees.

She heard them before she saw them, that chattering chuckle and menacing growls that foretold the arrival of darkspawn. Genlock and hurlock from the sounds. She straightened, knees bent, arrow nocked and bowstring pulled taut. Clear blue eyes scanned the trees. She heard Bodahn and Sandal behind her and knew they were alert and prepared to let their bolts fly.

A grunt resounded, followed closely by the piercing shriek of the dying. Her eyes narrowed as she pivoted about, toward the direction the death scream came from. There again, and then another, the body of a hurlock flying through the air, landing heavily to its back as Roland rushed in to finish it off with a well placed jab of his sword.

She could then hear the Sten's shout of triumph as he, too, apparently dispatched with his opponents.

Roland straightened as the Sten marched into the area. Both men continued to search the grounds, and Leliana did not ease her own stance. A rumbling chuckle alerted her to the advance of several of the monsters, and then the group found themselves surrounding and best upon by the darkspawn. With a growl, Hafter, who had remained by Leliana's side, lunged forward, pushing off the ground with his powerful hind legs, landing upon the nearest genlock, bearing it to the ground. The monster strove to fend the war hound's teeth off, but failed. Hafter's teeth sank into its forearm and, with a viscous shake, tore the skin from it. He then lunged forward, driving his teeth into its face, gripping on, his jaws locking as he began to worry the creature like a rag doll.

Arrows and bolts flew at the darkspawn, felling several of them, injuring many more. Leliana was suitably impressed with how quickly the dwarves managed to reload their crossbows, the bard making a note to rethink her opinion on the heavy weapons.

As they fought, another set of arrows had joined in taking down the darkspawn. Leliana had noticed it first, taking note of foes that fell to the missiles that did not come from her bow, and that she knew had not fell to the crossbows behind her.

Roland noticed next, ever attentive and aware in battle, as any knight should be. Facing off with his opponent, he smashed his shield into its face, causing it to stagger backwards, yet the hurlock - standing as tall as the former knight - retained its footing. An ugly snarl crossed its death skull face, and it jabbed its sword at the man, seeking purchase behind the shield Roland raised in his defense. Roland easily parried the blade, turning it aside as he then quickly reversed his own blade, bringing it sweeping across the unprotected neck of the large darkspawn. Black blood gushed from the wound, but the thing managed to raise its sword, trying to bring down the human. A green and white fletched arrow suddenly sprouted from one eye socket and the beast finally slumped to the ground, dead.

Leliana noticed that another woman - human - had stepped into the clearing, a short bow held in hand, as she quickly fired off more of the green and white fletched arrows. A sense of apprehension fell over the bard, and she frowned. She would certainly not turn aside aid, but the knowledge that the woman had been trailing them since they had left the mountains caused the former Orlesian spy a sense of ill ease. Turning her attention back to the battle, she put all thoughts of the newcomer from her mind, for now.

The two women worked in synch with one another, a steady stream of arrows flying unceasingly into the midst of the darkspawn that attacked them. The dwarves held their own valiantly, with only the occasional cry of "Enchantment!" from the younger. Leliana suppressed a giggle that threatened to escape. How very inappropriate!

Roland was tiring, the bard could see. His shield continued to bash and knock the fiends down as his sword unerringly sliced the life from his opponents. However, his shoulders started to slouch somewhat, and she noticed that he had stumbled once. The strength of his blows did not suffer or ease, but the bard knew that they would need to finish the fiends quickly. Her own shoulders aching, the archer sent her arrows slicing into the body of one menacing hurlock that moved too close to the former knight for her comfort.

The Sten snarled, his greatsword cleaving the darkspawn in two by twos and threes. The giant's blows never slowed, and he was quickly surrounded by the mangled corpses of the darkspawn too foolish to stay clear.

Before exhaustion could take its toll, the darkspawn assault finally ceased. Sighing wearily, the bard lowered her arms, her blue eyes scanning the area as her compatriots did likewise. Her vision settled upon the young woman who had entered the fray.

Dark chocolate brown hair curled around her face, having come loose from the heavy braid down her back. Dark brown eyes, almost black, were half lidded as she wearily shouldered her own weapon. She was almost as tall as Leliana, who was considered tall for a woman, but with round curves where the bard was willowy. She was dressed in simple but well made armor, a heavy fur lined cloak slung across her shoulders, her archery shoulder and arm bare. It was when the woman - who appeared a year or two younger than Leliana - turned, that she knew, if not whom she was, what she was.

The haughty gleam in her eyes and the proud tilt of her chin marked the young woman clearly as a noble of high birth. Those dark eyes skimmed quickly and without interest over Leliana and the dwarves, briefly resting upon the Sten's huge form, before settling upon the young man who was now turning away from the carnage he had created to check on his companions.

Leliana watched as Roland's green eyes, hooded with exhaustion, settled upon the figure of the pretty noblewoman. Those same green eyes widened slightly and he moved forward quickly. Aware he knew the woman, the bard watched closely to the woman's reaction. Where Roland's relief at seeing her was palpable, the noblewoman's reaction was more subdued, almost a look of bored entitlement, and nothing else. No relief at seeing the young man alive and well, no joy at seeing another she knew. Leliana suppressed a snort; such was the way of the nobility, the Orlesian thought bitterly, having been well rid of it all during her time in Fereldan.

Of course, Leliana reminded herself as she continued her scrutiny of the younger woman. This noble had been following them for at least a couple of weeks. Why had she not revealed herself sooner?

Roland stopped just in front of the young woman, and offered a respectful bow.

"Ser Gilmore," the young woman's voice was low and throaty, practiced as any noblewoman who knew the power of not only her beauty but her birth.

Taking a deep breath, Roland straightened, staring the young woman directly in the eyes. "It is a pleasure to see you alive and well, Lady Cousland."


	34. Chapter 34

_First, for those following __Beyond the Sylvan Paths__, I promise to update soon. I've hit a minor writer's block - I know where I want it to go, I'm just having trouble finding the words. I've been so full of this story lately that I have only been poking at Paths._

_I am so happy with the response the last chapter - or rather, Lady Cousland's appearance has elicited. This chapter is mainly fluff, and also a setting a direction or two for other aspects of the story. Hope it meets with your approval…_

_As always, I so very much appreciate the alerts, favorites and reviews!: Nithu, Arsinoe de Blassenville, tgail73, CCBug, Biff McLaughlin_

_Ahm…what did I forget? Oh yeah, I do not own this. Actually, other than my house and car, I don't own anything of any significance, especially this awesome universe. _

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 34_

Sitting cross legged on the floor, the heavy woolen blanket wrinkled beneath her, Adela concentrated upon the figure she had been working on for weeks. Rubbing the pad of her thumb along the squared edges, she gently blew the ivory dust away, clearing out the grooves along the bulky form. Thea, Josef's elder sister by two years, sat beside her, her reddish blond head bent over the wood she had been working on, creating her own masterpiece, one for her mother. Adela glanced over at her 'student' a wide smile upon her lips. The girl had the talent and desire to create truly marvelous works. If she had remained as the 'property' of the cult, the poor thing would never have realized her potential as anything other than a brood mare. Adelaine had been pleased beyond words when Adela had offered to tutor the girl.

The front door _whooshed _open, and Adela's blond head looked up, tucking her own work down to her lap, watching as the figure passed by her doorway. It was Niall, apparently returned from checking up on Brother Genetivi, who had insisted upon remaining with a small family in the house just down the hill a bit. He insisted that he did not wish to be a burden, considering Adela's own need for recuperation. Zevran and Niall were both of a mind that the lovely mother of the brood of five had something more to do with it. As Niall waved a hello and then continued on his way passed her door, she breathed a sigh of relief and resumed her work. It wouldn't do for the one to whom her current work was for to walk in before it was finished.

A smile crossed her lovely features as she stretched her legs out, relishing in the feel of tendons lengthening and the aches releasing. They were approaching the dead of winter, and Adela's strength had returned after careful, tedious and painful work. However, her companions still did not allow her to help out around the village, and kept her confined to the Chantry. She knew that Alistair, especially after telling him of her childhood, felt guilty about so restricting her movements. However, as had been told to her throughout her younger years and was now being repeated by those who cared for her well being, it was for her own good. Never one given to tantrums, the young woman still felt petulant and at times displayed a remarkable ability toward ill humor. Even Alistair would avoid her on her more grumpy days.

Today, however, found her in as good a humor as she had ever been. With Thea's visit and a resumption of her art, the elf found a renewed sense of worth as she worked the ivory. Perhaps in another day or two it would be ready for presentation.

DA:O

Roland kept casting glances back at Elissa, watching as she moved, back straight and haughty, beside Leliana. He was slightly surprised that Elissa managed to remain immune to the bard's usually winning charm. However, the noblewoman seemed determined to ignore everyone in the group, save when she attempted giving orders to those very same people. He was more amazed that no tantrums had resulted in those companions refusing to give in to the woman's demands. At one point, Roland had to pull the noblewoman aside and explain that these folks were not her vassals nor servants, but warriors on an important quest to stop the Blight. Meeting her dark glare with his level stare, he waited until she backed down. With a huff, she resumed her position in line, shooting glares at the former knight's straight back.

Bodahn had accepted the woman's manner with easy grace, grinning away as he supplied her with a tent and bedroll from his stock. On the sly, he had told Roland that he found human nobles to be far less demanding and easier to please then dwarven nobles, especially if you met their ridiculous demands with a smile and a nod. Clapping the dwarf on the back, the former knight thanked the merchant for seeing to the lady's comfort. To which the merchant chuckled. "Coin is coin, my friend. The gold spends regardless of whose hand it is taken."

The former knight shook his red head, turning his attention back to the road. They had one, perhaps two more days left in their journey to Redcliffe, barring any further interruptions or attacks along the way. He sincerely hoped that Elissa would remain civil during that time. He had no concern for Leliana. The Orlesian was gracious and patient almost to a fault. And the Sten would simply ignore the noblewoman with his usual stoicism. He did notice that Hafter had taken a sound dislike to the woman, but the hound remained at Roland's side (much to the man's surprise), and would not attack someone who was part of their group.

A sigh escaped his lips, and he shook his head. The jocularity that had formed among the group - even on the Sten's part - had evaporated upon Elissa's inclusion to the group. Once they arrived at Redcliffe, the sheer size of the castle and the village nearby should be enough to put distance between Elissa and the others.

Or, so he hoped.

DA:O

She sat across from his desk, merely watching as he sat, his long fingers steepled at his forehead, his eyes half closed in thought. He knew she was simply waiting, as she always did, with that patience she learned during her service to king and country. Learned under _his _tutelage. Anger barely under control, the mage lifted his head to stare into those deep, brown eyes of the woman he loved.

A straight brow twitched and raised in question. Arawn frowned, rising to his feet. She knew what was angering him. She just wasn't certain what he was going to do about it.

Over the past month, Loghain had managed to break free of the Fade prison he had so carefully constructed around the Teyrn. Whenever he was placed in sleep, his soul would be drawn to the prison, and kept there until such time as the body of the man was needed. Then, using a vial of Loghain's blood, Arawn was able to control the body, voice and movements of the man, all while the strength of the man's personality and soul remained in the background, giving what it could to the control the blood mage exerted over him, but unable to fight to break free of that hold.

Somehow, he had managed to break free of the sleep induced prison three times over the course of two weeks.

The mage finally allowed the building snarl to escape, and it was then Cauthrien rose to her feet, moving with quick, efficient grace to stand beside him, a strong hand settled upon his forearm. He looked over into her plain features, intelligent eyes and steady posture. Then there was a sigh, and he leaned over and kissed her lightly upon one cheek.

"Is there nothing more that you can do to control him?" she asked. Arawn smiled over at her, knowing she knew that if he had an answer he would not necessarily tell her. Her eyes remained upon his face, obviously trying to see if any answer lay therein. With a final sigh, she leaned over and kissed him, then took her leave.

The blood mage watched his lover leave, quietly closing the door behind her, and then settled back at the desk. The option before him was…undesirable. However, with Howe firmly ensconced at the Arl's manor, and his penchant for…unsavory games, he was certain the man could provide him with the fodder he would need for the ritual he needed to perform. Rising, he made his decision, and set off to meet with his ally.

He was certain the Teyrn would be able to provide him with many elves that would be suitable….

DA:O

The clang of metal upon metal rang throughout the chapel of the Chantry, echoing off the stone walls. The pews had been removed as well as the altar, converting part of the largest room in the building into a sparring chamber. Alistair leaned back against the doorframe, watching as the two elves worked through their sparring routine. Zevran was taking it very easy on Adela, who had only been on her feet for the past week without assistance. She had insisted upon the sparring sessions, to which the elven assassin agreed only if she would let him know when she became too tired to continue on. Alistair chuckled as he recalled her raising that brow of hers, replying, "And I supposed our enemies will allow me to catch my breath should I become overtired?" Zevran merely met that stare with one of his own, but insisted upon the compromise. The elven warden had merely sighed, and then agreed.

Now, she moved with almost the careful grace they were all accustomed to seeing her move with, her daggers flying and spinning, meeting each and every one of the Zevran's practiced blows. Her feet were still a bit wobbly, and Alistair noticed that Zev did not take advantage and push his benefit, but merely remained in place, concentrating of her hand-eye coordination before mixing footwork into the dance.

The ex-templar had to admit it - allowing the ex-Crow into their ragtag team had been one of the best decisions the elven warden had made. And that was saying a lot - Adela seldom made terrible decisions.

He grinned - well, except whenever she was trying to save time, that is.

He heard Zevran curse slightly and turned his attention back to the pair. Apparently, Adela had managed to out step the other elf, and was now grinning down upon his prone figure, her daggers each at his throat as he lay upon his back. Zevran chuckled, raising his hands, palms up, in a gesture of surrender. Laughing, she reached down to assist him to his feet. Zevran playfully slapped her hands away, pushing himself up on his own power. Alistair saw the slight frown upon Adela's lips, but she said nothing as the other elf straightened before her.

Adela's recovery had been amazing in its quickness. She was by no means back up to the strength she had been, but she was, he hazarded a guess, where she had been at the time she found herself standing under the ancient archways of Ostagar. With at least two more months of winter, during which time they would not be able to travel, Alistair was confident his fellow warden would be back up to the fighting form she had been prior to their battle with the high dragon. He grinned as he looked over at the scales Zevran had insisted upon harvesting from the dragon's body. They would either fetch a decent price at an armory or make a splendid suit of armor. His smile widened as his gaze wandered to his sleeping chambers, thinking of the pack he had stuffed with the softer, more malleable drake scales. He knew of a certain armory in Denerim that he meant to call upon once they were able to make it back to the capital.

Later that night found Alistair sitting in his chair in Adela's room, waiting for her return. Niall and Morrigan had been called to one of the homes wherein one of the few pregnant women was expecting to give birth soon, Zevran accompanying them. Adela had been on dinner duty that evening, and was finishing up cleaning. Alistair had offered to help, but she had told him, without doubt, that she did not need his assistance and that since he got to go out and about during the day, he could suffer through a few moments without her while she did the dishes. Grinning, he left the room and settled down to watch the fire.

While he sat, he thought. He had been confused of late with her. Before, their friendship had been so easy - they could hug or hold each other, and he never noticed any hesitance on her part. It had been like that practically since they met those months ago at Ostagar. These past few days, however, she would pull away more often, unable to meet his eyes. She had even made certain that his room had been set up, and he ended up spending less time in her company as she insisted that he spend his nights in his room. The young man had assumed that she had been falling in love with Roland as the other knight had been making clear overtures of courting the pretty elf. She had said several times that she missed the knight's company, and had even voiced her displeasure at Alistair's recruiting the young man into the Wardens. And, while Alistair had thought he had come to terms early on in their relationship that the elven lass would only ever be his friend, he knew that he had been lying to himself. He loved her. And, despite his taking a more forward role in putting his feelings out to her, he still felt as though he would be the one losing.

The door, that had been slightly ajar, was pushed open, and Adela walked quietly into the room. She cast her fellow Warden a shy smile and hurried over to where her crafting supplies lay. He watched as she dragged a wrapped bundle from her pack, and silently hoped she was not going to ask him to leave her room so soon. Every night for the past week she had been insistent upon his leaving, and he found he was missing her almost as much as he did while she was unconscious.

This night, however, was obviously different. She turned her smile - that radiant smile that Alistair knew was for him and him alone - upon him and he found himself grinning widely back.

"This is for you," she said, thrusting the package into his hands. Astonished, he looked at the bundle of cloth wrapped around an object that felt harder than wood, but not as strong as stone. He raised a questioning eyebrow, but she merely met the gesture with a wave of her hand. As he began to unroll it, Adela sank to the floor by his feet, watching eagerly as he unwrapped the object.

As the white of the ivory was revealed, and the object wrapped in the cloth came further into view, Alistair's hands paused, his eyes staring with disbelief at the item that Adela had crafted for him. He raised his eyes, seeking out the elf's blues, and he saw her grin at the astonished expression that most assuredly was set upon his features. Carefully, he pulled out the figure, his fingers running over the etched carving as he pulled it free of its bundle.

"Adela…" he whispered as he gazed at the figure that she had carved for him. The white and gray of the ivory blended and swirled over the square form, and she had carved out individual 'stones' along the length. Strong arms hung at its sides - one straight down the side, the other held out slightly, it's four fingered palm held up and flat. She had even managed to set within two eye sockets black onyx, and the golem's mouth was set in a long, grim line. Turning the figure over, he examined every inch, grinning away as moisture formed in his eyes. When he looked back to Adela, he saw that her eyes as well had gathered an amount of moisture. When she noticed he was looking at her, her eyes shifted shyly away for a moment.

"I was going by memory," the elf said as she rose to her knees, leaning against Alistair's legs as she ran a long fingered hand along the golem's head. "I had seen a drawing of one in a book Maric had shown me as a child." She lifted her eyes to his. "Apparently, there had been a mage with them who had a golem." Her shoulders gave a slight shrug. "I don't know if it's anything like the one you had as a child, but…" Her sentence ended with a squeak as Alistair pulled her onto his lap and into his arms, hugging her tightly to him. Laughing, she hugged him back for a moment.

"I take it you like it?" she asked after a few moments, still tightly wrapped in the human's arms. She felt his head nod against hers, and she giggled slightly, closing her eyes.

"Thank you," Alistair whispered into her hair, just above one delicate ear. "You have no idea how much this means…" his voice broke slightly here, and he flushed with embarrassment. "Really," he pulled her back at arm's length, staring into her eyes. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

Still smiling, Adela brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, not quite meeting his open and frank gaze. "I'm glad you like it, Alistair."

"'Like' isn't a strong enough word, Del," Alistair smirked as she rolled her eyes at the nickname he had come up with. She hated it, and he knew it. It was difficult enough for the elf to call Zevran 'Zev', a shortening of his name the male elf insisted upon her using. Having her own name shortened irked her.

He could, however, see the tiny lift at the corners of her mouth, so he knew she wasn't upset with him. His attention went back to cataloging the details of the golem figure the elf had crafted for him. Adela rose to her feet and wandered to the fireplace, tossing a log on top of the existing pile. Alistair snuck a look at her, noting that she had her body turned from him, her head bowed somewhat. The hands holding the figure went to his lap and he took the opportunity to study the elven woman standing before the fire.

She was wearing her hair down and loose, it falling to her waist in a golden cascade, curling slightly around her shoulders and arms. The firelight danced along its length, giving it a reddish tinge and silhouetting her face and slender form beautifully. He suppressed a sigh. Her body was rigid, and she seemed to be staring off into the flames as though in a dream. Unable to take the changes in Adela's demeanor - which could drastically change from open friendship to this more closed wall - any longer, he rose from his chair, and stepped over to the elven woman.

As he neared, he noticed that she had shifted her body slightly so that he could not look into her face. Squelching the hurt that rose in his chest, the young man stepped to her side, watching her bowed head.

Alistair's face bent down to Adela's, watching as an array of emotions - surprise, concern, confusion - crossed her beautifully expressive face.

"Tell me what is wrong," he encouraged, crouching down to better see her eyes, eyes she kept hiding from him. She merely shook her head, unable to respond, turning her body slightly away from him, swallowing hard but not speaking.

He sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Is it about Roland?" He noticed Adela went still at that, and he just plunged ahead. "Look, if…I know that he loves you," her head tilted toward him slightly. "And, although I can't say I'm happy about….well, you being with _anyone _else," he shook his head, turning away. "Adela, you know how I feel about you. I've never hidden the fact that I…well, I care - no, I love you," he turned back and was surprised that she was watching him, her blue eyes dark, full lips slightly parted. "But, if Roland makes you happy…" he faltered, finding it difficult to get the words passed his lips, and cursed himself as tears fell to his cheeks. _Oh, great powerful warrior I am_! He scolded himself.

She turned toward him then, taking the step necessary to place herself directly in front of him. Placing her hands on his chest and lifting her pretty face to his, she frowned at the tears, and raised a delicate hand - a hand becoming increasingly calloused from battle - to wipe them away. In a very small, soft voice, she said, "I am very sorry for my…wandering moods. I have been trying to figure out some…surprising thoughts that have recently come up. But, I do not love Roland."

He could not express the relief that flowed through him at that admission. However, if it was not Roland, then it had to be…

She raised on her toes, bringing her face close to his down turned visage.

"I love you," and then she kissed him, a simple chaste kiss placed very lightly upon his mouth. It surprised the young man, who stared down at the elf as she moved away. The words finally seemed to register in his mind. _She said she loved me_. His eyes brightened, and he scooped her into his arms, pulling her up, his mouth coming down to capture hers in an ecstatic kiss. He felt her slender arms wrap around his neck, pressing her body against his as she returned the kiss at first shyly, and then as their lips lingered upon each other, with enthusiasm. They broke free, gasping slightly.

Heart pounding rapidly, the blood rushing in his ears, all Alistair could do was grin goofily at the woman still in his arms. "That…that wasn't too soon, was it?" he asked the only words that popped into his head.

Adela giggled at him, swatting at his arm. "Silly. I started it." A pink flush rose, touching her cheeks and the tips of her ears.

"Hmmm…right, forgot that part," he grinned down at her, his heart bursting for her. "Maker's breath," he breathed, lightly kissing her lips again, rejoicing that he could kiss her in such a manner without seeming too brash. "but you are beautiful."

Her blush deepened, and he could not resist. A gentle finger traced the delicate curves of her ear, an ear he had wanted to touch for so long it was almost torture. Her eyes closed, her lips parted as her breathing increased, her head tilting to his touch. Then a slender hand captured his hand, pulling it down. "Alistair," she breathed, her eyes opening part way. "Elven ears are very….sensitive." her eyes were dark with passion, and it took the young man just a moment to understand exactly what she meant by that. His own face flushed considerably as his grin widened.

"Ah, good to know," he said playfully, kissing her again, staring into her face. "I am a lucky man, Adela." He pulled her to him in a hug, kissing the top of her head. Her arms released his neck and he felt a moment of dismay at the loss of contact. That dismay turned to pleasure as she tucked her arms around his waist, pulling herself closer to him, snuggling her face into his chest.

"So," he said, finally breaking the embrace, his voice husky with emotion. "When did you figure out that you went for the tall, blond and goofy types?"

Giggling at his self deprecation, Adela raised her face to his. "I'm really not sure," she admitted, tipping her head back a bit to watch his eyes. "I liked you from the first time we met. You were sweet." she poked him in the side when he rolled his eyes at that. "But, I was…confused. I thought I loved another," her head tilted down somewhat.

"Loghain," Alistair offered, having known for some time of the girl's feelings for the older man.

She nodded, raising her head again. "It was a girlish crush I have had for him since I was a child. He saved my life, made me a part of his in small gestures. He treated me as an equal in all things. But," she shook her head. "truly, what do I have in common with him?"

A small frown formed on her face, and Alistair resisted the urge to kiss it away, as he truly wanted to hear this. "I kept telling myself that I loved him, and that any feelings I had for you was purely friendship. But," her smile returned, "you are just so insidious! You get under the skin and are so silly at times, yet at other times you are so capable and assured. You don't mind being playful…I just couldn't get you out of my head, and then eventually I realized I couldn't get you out of my heart."

She smiled softly. "I woke up from the battle with the dragon, there you were, by my side as always. And, it felt so…_right_. Like that's where you needed to be, where I needed to be. By each other's sides. And, not just in battle." She shrugged. "Papa used to tell me that was how it was for he and Mamae, the feeling of being incomplete without each other. Papa feels it to this day." She paused then, in thought, as she thought of her parents.

"I am sorry for my erratic behavior," there was an apology in her voice and Alistair smiled at it. She raised on her toes again to kiss him lightly on the lips. "I was afraid to say anything or even really allow myself to understand my feelings because I felt like I was being fickle." A hand waved slightly. "Thinking I was in love with one man, but then realizing I loved another." She frowned. "I never wanted to be a fickle woman."

Alistair blinked, and then laughed, pulling her to him. "That's not being fickle, you silly girl!" he bent and kissed her again, deciding he was definitely enjoying that. "You said it yourself: you had a childhood crush. It's natural to have such feelings for someone who has been a part of your life." he smiled gently, running a finger along her jaw line and up her cheek. "I'm just glad you realized that it was a girlhood crush and that it was _me _that you had feelings for." His grin widened. "I don't know what I would have to do if I had to continue competing with Roland."

"Oh?" she grinned up at him.

"Sure. An old man who betrayed king and country?" He did not notice Adela's flinch at that. "I can compete with that. But an almost equally handsome and jovial Knight from Highever?" he feigned a shudder, causing Adela to giggle, "I may have had to actually work for that!"

Her smile widened, her eyes were bright as she looked up into Alistair's happy face. "I love you, Alistair." she said again, smiling as his face relaxed, his amber eyes darkening slightly.

"And I," he pulled her closer, bringing his mouth to her, "love you," he whispered against her lips before capturing them in another lingering kiss.


	35. Chapter 35

_Three reviews popped up within minutes of my placing the last chapter, and then just kept on coming! This story is now at 150 reviews and counting! Too cool, all, too cool! Thanks as always for those awesome reviews to __**Nithu, CCBug, tgail73, mutive, lilachsh, Arsinoe de Blassenville, zevgirl, Eriana10.**__ I love watching how everyone's minds start to work, the wheels and cogs just churning. I do admit that the last chapter was a bit rushed. I probably could have written another 'filler' chapter, but nothing came to mind and I didn't want to just write something for the sake of writing it. I hope everyone can forgive me for that. _

_I hope to continue to keep you all guessing…_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 35_

They had reached a quiet, snow laden Redcliffe Village days ago, and during that time Wynne and Artemis had prepared the Ashes and used them to awaken the Arl. Roland had to admit it - he had initially doubted that they would work. After all, what were they to do with them? Just sprinkle them over the Arl's prone form? Sing the Chant of Light over them before tossing them in the air? Make a tea out of them? The former knight felt somewhat blasphemous for those thoughts, but he really had been doubtful and curious.

The mages, however, seemed to have some idea and so the two healers had taken the pouch, prepared the ashes _somehow_ (Wynne _still _would not tell him what they had done), and then they did, indeed, sprinkle them over the arl's body. The Warden recruit had watched the procedure - simple as that.

Bann Teagan still acted as host as his brother slept in a natural, healing sleep. Lady Cousland had been given a suite of rooms in the West Wing, where the noble guests to Redcliffe were normally ensconced. The Bann had then placed Roland and his party in rooms near the mages in the family wing. Roland was most grateful for the respect the Bann was obviously showing him and his companions. If he had to guess from the look the gracious Bann gave them, he seemed aware that they needed to separate from Elissa as far as possible.

Therefore, days later, with the snow falling and the lakefront frozen, Roland found himself wandering the grounds. To be honest, he was also trying hard to avoid Artemis. The elven man had a habit of showing up and then making the young knight terribly uncomfortable with his open flirting. He groaned, placing his head in his hands, wondering how Adela and the others were making due. The wind blew the locks of hair that had come loose from the braid he kept his long hair tied back in. He hoped Adela was well.

He spotted the Sten sitting, tailor fashion, upon the ground, having cleared the snow away so that he could settle in for meditation. Roland chuckled, scuffing at the snow as he made his way around the huge warrior. He knew that the Qunari would not appreciate being interrupted, and so he made his way passed the man and into the castle.

Wynne was waiting for the young man by the doors, watching as he had wandered around, almost aimlessly. She offered him a soft smile and gently took the arm the gallant knight had offered.

"How is the Arlessa?" the young man asked as he let the elderly mage steer him to the Arl's study, where she had advised him the Arl was awaiting him.

"She is doing quite well, Roland," the mage's warm, soft voice wafted around him like a blanket. Although they had not known the mage for long before departing for the Ashes, Roland had found he had missed her careful wisdom and calm, soothing presence. "The scars have faded quite nicely, and she is taking the damage done to her features with great courage." Here she paused, looking up into his face. "I must admit to being somewhat surprised. I would have thought a woman such as herself - young, beautiful, noble - would be hiding herself away, bemoaning the ill fate fallen upon her. And yet," she tugged him back along, "she has resumed her duties with grace and patience, with only a jeweled eye patch to obscure some of the damage done."

Roland was genuinely surprised by this turn of events. The Arlessa Isolde that he and the others had met had been far more…_Orlesian_: vain, uncaring of the suffering her own actions had wrought. He grinned slightly at that, thinking of the other Orlesian woman he was acquainted with.

Once they arrived at the study, the elderly mage took her leave, explaining that the conversation with the Arl was decided to be one with Roland, Bann Teagan, and Lady Cousland.

The Arl was in deep conversation with his brother, Bann Teagan. Ser Perth stood to the back of both men, watching as Roland stepped into the chambers. The Knight of Redcliffe gave his Highever counterpart a brief, respectful nod before resuming his hawk-like observation of the room. He was surprised to see Leliana present, standing quietly, observing everyone in the room.

Roland knew the Arl from the visits the Couslands had made to Redcliffe over the years, long after Alistair had been sent off to the Chantry, but had never interacted with the Arl and therefore had not formed any opinion of the man himself. He did know, however, that Teyrn Bryce and Teyrna Eleanor had not been overly fond of the Arl, nor his Orlesian born wife, and that there was another point of contention that, while never spoken of aloud, was evident whenever they made their visits.

After bowing to the nobles in the room, the Warden recruit took his place next to Leliana, waiting for the Arl to address him. The Arl, whom Roland knew to be only in his early fifties, had aged considerably during his convalescence. His beard, once deep reddish brown was now heavily streaked with gray, as was the full head of hair upon his head. Heavy lines now bisected his face, giving him more the appearance of age on par with a grandfather rather than a father of a young boy. Roland winced slightly at that comparison.

"Ser Gilmore," the Arl began, tilting his head slightly to the young man. Roland shook himself from his observation and acknowledged the Arl's address.

"Your Grace," the young warden acknowledged, "Please, I have given up any titles. I am simply Roland or Warden Roland."

"Ah, yes, of course," the older man, "I had heard you will be joining the illustrious ranks of the Wardens. Congratulations, Ser. The Grey Wardens are as fine an institution as there is."

"My thanks, Your Grace," he bowed, straightening.

"You are most welcome," Arl Eamon politely said to Roland with a slight bow of his head. "My healers tell me that had you not arrived when you did, they were uncertain as to how much longer I may have lived."

With a deep bow, Roland replied, "It was our pleasure to be able to assist in any way we can, Your Grace." He straightened. "I know that Commander Adela was most concerned for your welfare."

Roland did not miss the expression that flickered briefly across the man's face. One laced with recognition, irritation and curiosity. However, the Arl made no mention of it, but merely smiled at the younger man.

"Lady Cousland," the Arl turned toward the young noblewoman, practiced sympathy clearly upon his face. "You have my most sincere sympathies for what happened to your family."

"I thank you, Your Grace," Elissa responded, her face as impassive as her voice. "I would ask, as the Teyrna of Highever, that you avail yourself, your resources and your arms to the undertaking of reclaiming my family home." That chin raised impudently, her eyes boring into Eamon's grays.

A slight frown formed on the older man's face, and Leliana and Roland exchanged uneasy glances. "I fear that, at this time, we have a Blight to contend with," the elderly politician explained, his hands held out at his sides in a placating gesture. "All of our forces must be spent toward defeating this greater evil."

Brown eyes narrowed. "I see." came out clipped, anger clearly behind the words. "Were you a vassal of mine, I could simply order you to do so or merely confiscate your holdings. However, as you are not," she bowed her head slightly in deference for the most powerful Arl in all of Fereldan. "I must humbly accept your decision. However, I do ask that, once the Blight has been defeated, that you would perhaps see to lending me those arms as you can."

A gray brow rose at the girl's impudence, but the Arl nodded, bowing low to the young noble. "Whatever is in my power, I shall do as I can," he responded as he straightened.

With a slight nod of her head, the young noble, without a word or look toward Roland and the others, swept out of the hall.

As he watched her leave, a thoughtful expression came across Eamon's face. He then turned back to the others.

"Quite spirited, isn't she?" he commented.

Roland nodded, unsure how to respond. As a Warden, he was no longer in the service of the Couslands. Nor did he truly have to bend to protocol concerning nobles. However, his entire life had been spent in enforcing those same protocols into his very being, and he found it difficult even now to openly speak against Elissa to someone who was outside of the Warden circle he was now a part of.

"Why did you leave Alistair behind, may I ask?" the Arl questioned the young knight, his gray eyes narrowed slightly.

Roland frowned. "It was _Warden _Alistair's very orders that left him behind with the Commander," he responded, confused by the Arl's interest.

During their time together, Roland had learned that Alistair was a bastard son of Maric's, and one who had been placed in Arl Eamon's care. He knew, from his conversations with the Warden that his childhood in Redcliffe had been anything but memorable or favorable for a growing lad.

Therefore, knowing of Alistair's past, Roland found it odd that the Arl was now concerned with the other man's well being.

"He is, after all, next in line for the throne," Eamon remarked, watching the former knight intently, as though trying to get his worth.

_Ah, there it was_. Roland frowned. He knew without a doubt that his friend did not intend to claim the throne. Firstly, as a Grey Warden, he forfeited any titles by deed or noble birth. Secondly, his feeling was that Anora was a fine, capable, lawful queen and he would never do anything that remotely seemed treasonous. Thirdly, and most importantly, he had no desire to be king. For Roland, that was more than enough reason to dissuade the Arl in his obvious mind set.

However, the Warden recruit knew it was not his place to do so. Therefore, he remained quiet, allowing the Arl to continue. Leliana, standing next to the warden, stood still, her quick mind obviously taking in every word, her perceptiveness taking in every action.

DA:O

Arawn stood in the center of the opulent chambers, taking in the large fireplace, dining area, gold gilted walls and huge, canopied bed. In just a few short months, Rendon had transformed the Denerim Manor from a blood soaked slaughter house, decimated of guard and lords alike, back to its former glory. He smirked as his eyes settled upon the door that stood along the side of the room where the bed stood. The blood mage knew quite well to where that door led.

As familiar with blood and violence as the maleficar was, there were some habits that possessed the Howe noble that sometimes bothered the mage.

However, those very same habits were ones with which made the nobleman a very efficient ally.

As his gaze continued to survey the room, Teyrn Howe entered the chamber, carrying a tray holding a carafe of wine and two goblets. He poured one, handing it over to the mage. As he bent to pour his own, the Teyrn said in his dry, nasally voice. "Well? What do you think?"

Taking a careful sip, the mage nodded his appreciation. "The wine is quite good. And," he smiled at his friend, whose eyes had narrowed slightly. "I am impressed by how quickly you managed to repair the damage done by those elves mere months before."

Chuckling, Howe took a sip of his wine, stepping to stand next to the bastard son of Maric. "Indeed. Blood ran from end to end, and there was no end to the bodies." He 'tsked' in mock sympathy. "Poor young Vaughan. He truly underestimated the tenacity of certain breeds of rodents."

Arawn merely nodded, taking another sip of his wine. He knew well Howe's distaste for elves; it was reflected in most of nobles in many countries. Fereldan, amazingly, seemed to hold onto its more Orlesian bigotry for the elves, especially considering the history of their fighting side by side their human counterparts. The mage, however, had always had an affinity for the graceful race, and had seen on many occasions were the smaller folk were the match for any human, especially in the magical arts. He wisely kept quiet, however. After all, he came to his friend this day in hopes of being given some elven fodder for the ritual he planned.

Instead, he pointed out the more feminine touches to the room: a vase of silk flowers, brighter colors for the bed's coverlet. "I see you still hold out hope we shall locate the young Cousland girl?"

An emotion flickered through Howe's dark eyes - a possessive emotion the mage knew very well. "I hope for word on her location with each passing day, my friend," Howe admitted, putting his goblet down on the nearby stand. His eyes strayed to the door that led to the dungeons below. "Once I have her here…" his voice trailed off, but Arawn found a slight shiver at the emotion betrayed in Howe's voice.

He placed a large hand upon the shoulder of his wiry compatriot. "Have no fears, my friend," he assured him as he placed his goblet down, gesturing to the door. "I have my men out, and any word they receive on the Cousland girl's location is to be brought to my ears immediately. As soon as we have her location, I will personally send out my agents to fetch her up."

Relief caused the smaller, older man to relax somewhat. "My thanks, Arawn. You are, indeed, a better friend than your father had been."

A wry smile turned the corners of his lips up at that. "Glad I am to hear that, Rendon," he said sincerely. "My father was one who never truly knew the value of those who helped him secure his throne. I promise you I shall not make the same mistakes he had." He clapped his hand once to Rendon's shoulder. "Now, I do have a favor to ask of you, my friend. One I am certain you can assist me in."

"How so?" Howe drawled out, curiosity in his eyes.

"I am in the need of elves." The blood mage began. Interest shone in the other man's face, and the mage directed Howe toward the dungeon. Taking the hint, the noble unlocked the door, leading the mage down.

"May I ask whatever for?" he asked as he unlocked the second set of doors, and then led the mage passed empty cells. The pair paused briefly at one cell, currently occupied by a man of mid years. His long dark hair hung in his face, and he stood proudly, despite being clad only in his small clothes. Arawn's eyes raked over the man's tightly muscled form before dismissing him and urging Howe further into the dungeons, completely ignoring the prisoner's glare.

"Of course you may ask," the mage resumed with a chuckle, smirking at Howe's glare. "I have a ritual that needs to be performed. One to firm up the foundations of Loghain's Fade prison. However, to do so, I need blood and another soul - a snack, as it were - to offer up to the denizens of that section of the Fade."

"Ah, indeed,' the nobleman nodded, understanding the man's request. "Come with me, I have several elves herein of whom I have grown…bored, but one that may do well to begin with. With the current…unrest in the Alienage, I am certain I can procure however many more you need."

Arawn frowned slightly. "I thought the Tevinters had set up their operations therein?"

Howe shook his head, "They have started the foundation work, however, nothing has been set just yet. What is a half dozen or so missing elves compared to what are left?"

Howe nodded briefly to a guard standing before a door, and watched as the man unlocked the door to allow the two men entry. He led Arawn through a series of interconnecting rooms, the front chambers obviously the guard rooms, and the others filled with cells. Many of the cells were empty, but a few contained prisoners. There were a few humans, one a young man who glared at Howe but remained silent upon seeing Arawn by his side. Another cell contained one older man who knelt, naked, in his own filth, prayers to the Maker spilling from his lips. The last cell contained a young, elven male, so filthy that it was difficult to ascertain the color of his hair. It was in front of this cell the pair stopped.

"This one," Howe gestured toward the bedraggled elf, who glared defiantly at the humans. "was one that had taken part in the slaughter here months ago." An evil grin crossed Howe's lined face. "He has a strong spirit, and a sound body. He has endured the tortures with amazing resilience, but I would gladly give him up for your needs."

Arawn looked the young elf over, nodding his head. He smirked at the fear that crossed the younger man's face. "Have him cleaned up and then deliver him to the palace as soon as you are able, Rendon," the mage said as he turned his back to the prisoner and sauntered passed the other cells. "I must begin the ritual soon."

Taking one last look at the elf, Rendon grinned, then turned to follow his co-conspirator.

The young elf could only watch, uncertain of his fate, yet knowing, somehow, that his time upon Thedas may be coming to an end.

DA:O

After Adela's declaration of love for Alistair, the pair of them had spent the rest of that evening cuddling and kissing, enjoying the feel of each other's heartbeats and lips. The topic of courtship had come up, with Alistair playfully asking if the young woman would prefer a long, drawn out courtship. "At least to the end of the Blight."

The look of confusion that crossed her face had caused a moment of trepidation for the young man.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, wondering at her reaction.

She lifted her head, her bluest of eyes fixing upon his face. "I am…unsure as to how we proceed from this point. It is all very new to me…," a forlorn sigh. "I just do not know what to do here," she looked up into his face. "I know you wish to court me, and the idea of it appeals to me greatly," she smiled as his own expression eased at those words. "It's just, I have no idea what that entails exactly. We elves….all of our marriages are arranged. There are no courtships, no declarations of love. Most betrotheds don't even meet until just hours prior to the marriage ceremony, I have even heard of those who never see their intended until the ceremony itself."

The warden frowned at this. "That's rather…cold." He tilted his head slightly at the elf. He was aware that many noble marriages were arranged, but that at least there were courtship rituals that had to be observed for each couple. To never even glimpse the one you were expected to live the rest of your life with until the day of the wedding…the idea just did not set well with the young man.

"I thought your parents married for love?"

Adela smiled. "They did. However, Papa had been married previously, and had produced offspring. He had become an adult in the eyes of the Alienage. Therefore, he could choose his mate."

"How will your people view our relationship?" Alistair asked, frowning. If Adela was not married, was she still considered a child in the eyes of her people?

A frown formed on the girl's face. "Actually, they may view our relationship as treasonous to the elven people." She brushed her hand over the growing frown that was forming on Alistair's face. "Stop that. As a Grey Warden, I leave my past behind. While my people may still view me as a child, and our relationship as going against everything that is elven, it does not matter." She moved closer, brushing her lips against his. "I have found someone I love, and I do not intend to give up any more than necessary out of duty."

"I don't want to be the cause of trouble between you and your family, Adela," Alistair said, speaking around the growing tightness in his throat.

"You won't," she replied immediately. "We are both Grey Wardens; our duty is to protect the land against the darkspawn and Blights. If we can find happiness amidst the darkness…" She raised a brow, quoting back words Alistair had said to her months ago.

Laughing, the young man hugged her tightly, feeling the apprehension that had been growing in his chest subside.

"But I still do not know how to proceed with a courtship," Adela steered them back to the original topic, her eyes hopeful.

"I will tell you this, Adela," Alistair lifted her chin with one strong hand, "Courtship is to allow a couple of get to know one another, to learn if that person is truly the one for them. We've traveled together for some time now, and faced many hardships, but us as a couple may change the….dynamics of that relationship." He shrugged here, not certain if he was saying the right thing, but deciding to go with it anyway and get it out there. "I've never done this before, either." He chuckled, heartened that she grinned up at him. "I say we just take it one step at a time, and see where it leads."

Her nervous laughter was like a tiny bell to his ears, and she flushed deeper. "That sounds nice, actually." She turned wrapping her arms around his neck, gazing into his face. "Figuring this out together may actually turn out to be rather…fun." She gave him a mischievous, playful smile as she nuzzled her nose against his.

Therefore, Alistair had determined to take it slow; he had her love; the rest could be taken at a slower pace. Especially when the young man took into account Adela's previous experience with a man. He did not want to scare her away or cause her further harm.

His heart, mind and soul understood the need to take things slowly; his body seemed to have a mind all unto its own.

Just being near Adela was sometimes physically impossible as his body - or rather, certain parts of his body - would start to…come to life, completely ignoring the decision the mind, heart and soul had already made. Fortunately, if the woman in question had noticed, she had not made any indication of it, and seemed to enjoy their time together.

And this night his body's reaction to her was proving distracting and inconvenient. Distracting in that she was sitting very close to him as they all sat in the main chamber, sharing a meal. Inconvenient because they were sharing a meal with their entire group. At Adela's request.

Apparently, she had something she wanted to discuss with the group as a whole. Alistair doubted it was regarding the latest development in their relationship. Zevran had been dropping innuendos these past few days, winking at the young man, waggling his eyebrows. Niall seemed to be flushing more often in Adela's company, while Morrigan would simply glare at Alistair. She had, at one point, warned him that if he harmed Adela, she would, indeed, be turning him into that toad Daveth had mentioned those months prior.

So, they were all aware. Of course, how could they miss the even goofier grins Alistair would toss at the elven warden, or miss when Adela would simply walk up to Alistair to deliver a warm kiss to his cheek. They were not exactly hiding the fact that they were pursuing a relationship. He just hoped Zevran would not suggest something …_overt _to the younger elf. Please, Maker, please help Zevran keep a leash on his tongue…and then he groaned at that unintended implication.

He glanced over at Adela, who remained seated in her chair. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth, a clear indication she was nervous or concerned over the reason why she had insisted everyone take the evening meal together. He reached over and gently tapped the lip, and her blue eyes rose to look, in question, into his ambers orbs. Offering a grin, he remarked, "What has that lip ever done to you that you're going to include it in this evening's meal?"

Startled, she then rolled her eyes, but released her lip. "Sorry," she whispered, flushing slightly. "You would think by now I would have outgrown that habit."

Alistair chuckled at that. "You've been doing it since we first met. I'd imagine you've been doing it your whole life." He shrugged. "Some habits are just tough to give up."

"Hmm…yes, I know," she admitted, smiling up at him.

"Well, fearless leader," Zevran all but purred from the other side of the small, round table they had taken their meal at. "Was there something you wished to discuss with us? Or," a smirk crossed his handsome, tattooed face. "Can we all simply sit back and watch the beautiful pair of you make lovers eyes at one another, hmm?"

Alistair scoffed at that while Adela flushed a bit. "Well, I do have something I wish to discuss," she admitted after a moment, casting a glance at Alistair. "It's rather strange, and has taken me some time to try and figure out how to approach the subject." She turned toward Niall, who was watching with his usual closeness. "I'm still not certain, but can't let this go any longer without a discussion."

"You're always telling me how I'm Fade sensitive, Niall," the mage nodded. "But I never really believed you before…"

"Ha!" the mage chuckled, nodding at her. "You believe me now?"

"Yes, I do," she agreed. "While I was unconscious, as a matter of fact, I walked the Fade and was pulled into another person's…" she stopped here, struggling for the word. "I guess you can say dream, but it really wasn't."

Everyone was listening, but it was Niall who responded. "How so, Adela?"

Rubbing a finger along her forehead, she shrugged. "It wasn't a state of sleep, natural sleep, which the dreamer found himself in. It was induced…a prison set up in the Fade for him."

"Prison?" Alistair asked, "You mean by blood magic?"

Tilting her head at the former templar initiate, she nodded. "Exactly like that, in fact." She looked over at Niall, whose eyes were thoughtful. A glance at Morrigan confirmed that she, too, was quite intrigued by this and was watching the elven woman closely.

"Apparently, a blood mage had created a prison within the Fade, and would…cast his spirit into it." She shrugged. "Is that possible, Niall? I mean, can blood mages really have that much control over a person?"

"You saw what happened at the tower," the Circle mage quietly reminded her and everyone else. "Uldred managed to do things using blood magic I never thought possible, and no one at the Circle - mage or templar - was prepared for what he managed to accomplish." He shrugged. "To be honest, the Chantry allows so little research into blood magic that it is impossible to know exactly what is and what is not possible. And, our defenses against it are…limited."

"All because of your Chantry's short sightedness," Morrigan sneered, her yellow eyes narrowing in anger. "Had your Chantry more of a desire to actually counter blood magic rather than simply imprison mages, the Tower would never have fallen as it had." She lifted her raven head slightly. "Nor would there be a need to imprison every mage out of the ignorance."

Niall stared at the witch for some moments, but nodded his head. "You're correct, Morrigan," the witch seemed slightly surprised by this. "Having knowledge of something does not necessarily mean that it will be used. Sometimes, knowledge of something is enough to dissuade its use."

"So, is it possible?" Adela pressed, wanting an answer.

Both mages looked at each other and then nodded. "Indeed it is," Morrigan voiced. "Blood magic, after all, comes from demons. Moreover, 'tis demons that make their home within the Fade."

"So a blood mage could make a deal with a demon and create the prison?" Adela asked as she followed along. Again, both mages nodded in affirmation.

The elf leaned back into her chair, a thoughtful look crossing her features. Alistair frowned. "Do you know who this prisoner is, Adela?" he asked after too many minutes of silence followed.

She nodded, turning her eyes to look fully into Alistair's. The young man could see indecision there, and it startled him a bit. "I do," she voiced, frowning slightly. She rose, pushing her chair back under the table, pacing around slightly as she collected her thoughts. Alistair rose as well, placing himself in front of her.

"Something tells me you don't like what you're going to say to me," the perceptive young man said.

"No," she responded. "It's more that _you _are not going to like what I'm going to say, and I am uncertain you will even believe me."

Alistair crossed his arms over his chest, aware that the others were watching the pair closely. "Look," he replied, "I believe that you are Fade sensitive like Niall has been harping on," he ignored the indignant gasp from said mage. "So, just tell us so that we can figure out a way to help the poor sap."

Her hands dropping to her sides, she let out a long sigh. Then, seeming to steel herself, she replied. "It's Loghain."


	36. Chapter 36

_Thanks to everyone who has been reading, alerting/favoriting, and reviewing on this story. The last chapter generated some interesting reviews, and, again, I just love watching how some of you may hit on some plot directions, while others…well, let's just say they I get a giggle sometimes. _

_My thanks to the following reviewers: Epiphany sola Gratia (first time reviewing this story, thank you for taking the time!), Nithu, Arsinoe de Blassenville, mutive, tgail73, xXBeninekoXx (another first time reviewer who stayed up all night to read chapters 1-35!)_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 36_

He stared at the elven woman for a moment, taking in the words that had just come out of her mouth. His amber eyes blinked - once, twice - and then he tilted his head just slightly as though a different angle would help his mind digest her words.

His first reaction was to go off on a tantrum. Had she just said that she had dreams of Loghain? Has she been dreaming of the Teyrn while at the same time saying she loved him?

That quick, knee jerk, got-to-protect-my-heart reaction quickly dissipated, however, as his mind - quicker than most people thought it was - kicked in, pushed aside his emotional reaction, and really listened to what she was saying.

There was a blood mage in control at the palace. Loghain, the Regent, was a blood thrall of that blood mage.

Who knew who else the maleficar controlled? The queen? Perhaps. But, merely having control over Loghain gave the mage control over all of Fereldan - the armies, the nobles, _everything_.

She stood there, waiting, her blue eyes fixed upon _his _face although her words had been addressed to everyone in the room. He realized then that it was his reaction that she was most concerned with, his opinion that mattered the most to her. That knowledge eased the last of his tensions away. He may not want to lead, but he did want his opinion to matter.

And he knew that, with Adela, it did.

So he pushed that last vestiges of jealousy that had threatened to explode from his mouth, and frowned, really thinking through the problem.

"You're telling me that you dream of Loghain and believe he's not the bad guy?" he asked, his voice calm if not louder than he had wanted it to be. It echoed slightly in the smaller space. He did not notice that the others of their group cast glances at one another. Niall made as though to speak, but Zevran placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his white-blond head for silence.

Adela looked over at the others, and then back to Alistair. Confusion was clearly upon her face, and she seemed at a loss for words.

"Alistair," the elven woman whispered, taking a step closer. "That is not what I said."

He frowned, and then rolled his eyes. "Sorry, no, I meant that you had been…what do you call it Niall?" he turned to the mage, who offered up a small smile.

"Fade walking," the helpful mage injected, pleased that there would not be an argument brewing.

"Right, Fade walking," the human warden repeated, turning his attention back to the clearly relieved looking elf. Okay, maybe _some _of his jealousy and tension had slipped by. But, he didn't mean for it to happen.

"How is it possible that you ended up in his prison?"

The elf shrugged, her eyes seeking out Niall. The mage sat straighter in his seat, obviously pleased that his expertise was called upon by these people he had come to respect so much.

"It is possible that, when someone is trapped in the Fade, that they somehow can 'call' to another being or denizen. After all, with the Harrowing, that's what the templars do - they have a senior mage 'call' to a demon and alert them to the fact that an apprentice is in the Fade, and to go on the hunt."

"Hunt?" Adela's eyes widened. Beside the male mage, Morrigan scoffed - loudly - at such an idea. "Do you mean that they purposefully put a young mage - no, an _apprentice, a child _- in such a life threatening situation?"

Both Alistair and Niall nodded, sharing uneasy looks. "Yes," Niall answered. "It is a test to see if an apprentice can resist the call of a demon. If they fail…"

"The templars kill the apprentice," Alistair finished in a soft, weak voice, recalling his own experience with an ill fated Harrowing.

Both witch and elf exchanged looks, eyes filled with outrage and indignation. Zevran looked mildly appalled, but remained silent.

"Okay," Adela said from between clenched teeth. "I always knew that the Chantry had rather barbaric practices with regards to mages, but this really is beyond appalling." She took a deep breath, relaxing herself. For all the hardships elves had as a race in human held lands, she was beginning to think that at least relative freedom was better than what the mages had to endure.

"So," she turned back to Niall, getting the conversation back on track. "You are saying that when I'm in the Fade, Loghain can somehow sense someone or something that is Fade sensitive, and a beacon call goes out for help?"

Impressed, the mage nodded his head. "And as we understand you and Loghain already know one another that 'call' recognized you and pulled you in."

Adela began pacing, biting her lower lip in thought. Niall and Morrigan were whispering to one another, Zevran leaning in to listen. Alistair stood, watching Adela, his own face thoughtful.

She paused, her face scrunched up with thought. The young man watched as realization dawned over her features. "What is it?" he asked quietly. The others looked up.

"I've just realized that perhaps some of the dreams I thought I had of Loghain were not dreams at all," she slapped her forehead with a hand, shaking her head, muttering to herself. "What an idiot I am!" she raised her eyes.

"What?"

"Some of the dreams…I think I was actually in Loghain's prison. Only, we each thought the other some figment. I thought he was a dream Loghain, he thought I was a demon or spirit taunting him."

Everyone fell silent for a moment, digesting what the elven warden was telling them. She began to pace again, shaking her head. "He tried to tell me." She paused. "I would ask him how he could have deserted us - the king, the wardens, all those soldiers. He would insist, rather strenuously, that he didn't recall the battle at all."

"How is that possible?" Alistair asked, a scowl on his face. "He was there!"

Adela merely shrugged her shoulders. "All I know is that he was very insistent. And, then, in later 'dreams', he tried to tell me that we had all been betrayed." She threw her hands up in the air. "I had dismissed it as a dream, as what I wanted to hear - that Loghain, the Hero of River Dane, friend of Maric and of my mother, _my friend_, would never have betrayed us and left us to die."

"A very power blood mage could have control over a person's actions, even from a distance," Morrigan replied, glancing at Niall for confirmation. When he nodded his approval, she continued. "Alter his memories. This mage obviously wanted the king out of the way, and whilst he went about it in a very theatrical manner, it was quite effective." She shrugged her lithe shoulders, a thoughtful expression upon her lovely face. "'Tis obvious he had not believed the rumors of a Blight, else wise I doubt he would have allowed so much of the armies to be decimated."

Alistair was shaking his head. "Okay, "he turned back to Adela, still confused. "If you weren't dreaming but in that prison of his, how come you couldn't tell the difference?"

A long finger tapped her chin. "Maybe because those visits were merely for a normal sleep period. This last visit was over a two week period." She turned and looked at the other warden. "I almost became trapped in it myself."

"That would be normal," Niall confirmed Adela's suspicions with a nod. When Adela and Alistair both turned to him, he continued. "These other 'dreams' you had were during a normal slumber period. You were not in the Fade long enough for your perception to adjust, and so thought it was a dream. This last time you were in the Fade was over a lengthy period. Plenty of time for you to adjust and become aware of your surroundings." The mage shrugged.

"And yet our dear Warden managed to escape her own trap to search the Teyrn out," Zevran added as he followed along the conversation, pleased to have something to add.

Adela smiled at her fellow elf. "It took a while, however." She frowned. "I believed what I saw," she stated. "I knew I was in the Fade, but could not find my way out. It took me…I don't know how long just to get myself free and then I began searching for someone - anyone - or an exit."

"And you stumbled upon Loghain." Alistair said quietly, his eyes watching Adela's face.

With a nod, she then told her companions all about her entrapment and subsequent freedom from the prison, skipping over the identity of the blood mage. She watched as Alistair's eyes lit with understanding, that sheepish look pasted firmly upon his face.

"Well," Zevran put in as he rose to his feet, pushing his chair back and moved to the elven warden. "Regardless of the fact that I think we can safely say that Loghain is a blood thrall, we still have him to contend with, in one fashion or another."

Alistair nodded, and Adela reluctantly agreed. "True," the elf replied. "Even if he is not in control of his faculties, he still is Regent, and the blood mage still uses his voice as a means to control the armies, possibly the queen, and Maker knows what or who else."

"So we continue on as we have been?" Alistair asked, watching Adela closely. He felt a surge of relief when she nodded in affirmation.

"Indeed we do. We can't let our knowledge - or suspicion - that Loghain is held in thrall alter any of our course at this time. We have a Blight to stop. And that means we need to finish collecting on these treaties, seeing to the Arl's recuperation, and possibly confronting Loghain."

"Perhaps there is a way to free the Teyrn from his prison?" Zevran put in with a slight shrug. "Find the mage and kill him. End of all our worries."

"Save we do not know if the mage acts alone or has coconspirators," Morrigan reminded the smirking elf with a smirk of her own.

"Ah, 'tis true, 'tis true," the male replied with a bow toward the perceptive witch.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Adela said, her eyes going to Alistair. He returned her look and could see that there was more she needed to say. He raised an eye brow at her and she nodded.

"Now, if everyone will excuse us, I have something else that I need to discuss with my fellow warden." She purposefully ignored the knowing smirks Niall and Zevran exchanged as well as the roll of eyes from the witch.

DA:O

The room was…distasteful. Calling it a room was being far too generous. It was a cell, one of those rooms used by the guards who had the dubiously honorific duty of guarding those unfortunates that found themselves in the dungeons of the palace. Cells for those poor souls that there were to be no official records of ever being held.

Rough gray stone made up the walls of the small room, perfectly insulating against sounds escaping to the corridors beyond the heavy iron bound door. Two cots had been placed along the opposite walls, Teyrn Loghain stretched out upon one, fully bound at wrists and ankles. He was gagged for Arawn had no desire to listen to the man's continuous threats and currently glaring up at the mage as he surveyed the bindings of the other cot.

The heavy door swung silently open, admitting a burly guard and two elves. Arawn rose to his feet, his eyes, a bright blue, skimming first across the tiny form of the elven woman before settling upon the taller, broader figure of the elven male he had acquired from Howe. He smirked, indicating the guard to settle the young elven male upon the cot and secure him tightly. He was pleased as the elf struggled and fought against the guard, seeking an escape from his fate. The elven woman merely stood, eyes vacant, in a near catatonic state.

It took several minutes for the guard to strap the male down, hissing as a fist connected squarely with his jaw. The human did not handle the elf carefully. Battered, bruised and bleeding from a split lip, the elf glared up at the human as the final restraint was tightened around his ankle.

With a nod, Arawn dismissed the guard.

He began to draw in his magic, pulling free a long, black bladed dagger from the folds of the Tevinter style robe he currently wore. As his power grew, his eyes darkened, taking on the blood red that marked a blood mage. He pulled the barely conscious elven female into the circle of chalk he had drawn on the floor, brushing her long, red hair back from her shoulder, exposing the slender column of her neck. Almost tenderly, he caressed her throat, his eyes glaring in intensity, as words of power began to spill from his lips. He raised the dagger, completely ignoring the shouts and struggles of the men behind him. Grasping the woman's hair, he pulled her head back with a rough jerk, and she made not a sound - neither whimper nor gasp - as her throat was completely bared to him. The words - ancient Arcanum taught by the blood magisters of Tevinter - became courser, rougher, the power growing, filling the room. The air became heavy, the scent of iron and copper filled the air, and an unnatural chill permeated to the bone. Goosebumps rose on the woman's exposed flesh, and with a shout, Arawn drove the dagger point deeply into the young woman's neck, slicing through flesh, muscle, jugular and bone, nearly decapitating her. Blood spurted wildly from the horrendous wound, and, as the blood mage continued his chanting, allowing the body of the woman to slump to the floor, the blood rose, spiraling first around the maleficar as a whirlwind. He raised his arms, sending the spiral of blood rising upwards, and then spread his arms dramatically outwards, his fingers outstretched. The blood separated into two columns, each stretching out to the men strapped to the cots.

Loghain's eyes widened as he tried to utter out his curses around the cloth binding his mouth. The blood wrapped itself around the human, cocooning him. Suddenly, it converged upon his ears, eyes, nose and mouth, forcing entry into his body. His body jerked, and he shook his head, seeking to prevent the invasion of the girl's life blood. But, there was no hope, and soon every drop of the ghastly column gained entry. With a last spasm, Loghain laid still, his eyes open and vacant.

The elf ignored the struggles of the human across the way from him as he faced off against his own foe. Fear gleamed in his blue eyes, but he struggled bravely, clenching his teeth against the bloody invader. Like Loghain, however, he could not prevent the vile magic's work, and almost as quickly as Loghain had succumbed, so, too, did he.

Arawn's arms dropped to his sides, the words still flowing from his lips, his eyes, gleaming blood red, almost dripping bloody tears, focused upon the still form of the girl. He stepped closer, raising his arms over her body, the words still uttering from his throat, watching as the girl's skin grayed, and then flaked from her bones as dry parchment, splintering into dust. The particles rose up in a vortex, spiraling upwards. Soon, the organs, bones and muscle of the girl flaked and splintered, joining the flesh in the cyclone that spun in front of the mage. Two forms emerged from the twisting column, vaguely humanoid. Each form stepped to the bound men, leaning over them. Fingerless hands settled upon each forehead and pressed down. Soon, the forms merged with elf and human, vanishing from sight.

Exhausted, the blood mage finished the ritual. Not a trace of the elven girl remained, not even her clothing, which had rotted and vanished. The elven male lay quietly, his blue eyes open, sweat soaking into his hair, darkening it to near brown. The blood mage stepped over, and was pleased to note that he yet breathed, his heart beat strong. He reached down with a strong hand and closed the disturbingly gem blue eyes. He repeated the examination and gesture over Loghain's body. Then, satisfied that Loghain was now properly contained, the maleficar stepped from the cell, locking the door firmly behind him.

DA:O

Adela led Alistair into her room and quietly closed the door behind them. She paused, running a finger along the wavy grain of the door, her mind briefly taking in the high quality of the wood. With a sigh, she turned to Alistair, who was standing a few feet from her, watching her closely.

"Do you trust me, Alistair?'

Confusion marred his handsome face, bringing his brow together. "Overlooking that little temper tantrum I almost tossed…of course I do."

"Okay, there is more I need to say, but I wanted to tell you before the others knew. You are not going to like that any better than you have already been enjoying this conversation."

"Should I sit down?" he tried to joke, but was tense, picking up on Adela's own concern.

"That…might be a good idea," she offered with a small smile, waving at his chair. When he was settled in, she replied. "I thought I should tell you this part before letting the others in on it. It is rather…disturbing."

"More disturbing than learning that the regent of Fereldan is a blood thrall and being imprisoned in the Fade?"

"What if I told you I know who the blood mage is holding the regent as a blood thrall?" She crossed her arms, her bluest of eyes fixed upon Alistair's face.

He frowned. "You do?" he asked. "Who is it?"

Adela took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy. She moved closer to Alistair, then knelt on the floor beside him. He had moved forward, his hands clasped, elbows on his knees. Her eyes closed as she tried to find the words to tell Alistair that not only did he have another older brother, but one who worked against them, against Fereldan. Seeing no other way around it, she opened her mouth.

"While I was in the Fade…," she began, taking Alistair's hands in her own, gently rubbing the back of his hands with her thumbs. "When I came upon the room where Loghain was confined to, another man was exiting the chambers, locking the door behind him. I hid in the shadows and he did not notice me. Alistair, the man looked like you and Cailan," the young bastard of Maric stiffened, his back straightening out, his hands slipping free of Adela's grasp. His eyes were wide in disbelief and he shook his head, even as Adela spoke her next words. "The blood mage holding Loghain prisoner and apparently working for control within the palace is called Arawn."

She took a deep breath. "And he is another son of Maric."

DA:O

Carefully tucking her hands inside the pockets of her robe, the elderly mage slowly walked the hall of the castle that led from Arlessa Isolde's chambers toward her own. The Arlessa had asked for the elderly mage's company for the better part of the day, stating that she found the older woman's company soothing, her wisdom a means to see a way forward to the future.

Wynne paused briefly, turning back toward the younger woman's door. She was physically recovering quite nicely, and had resumed her duties with patience and noble bearing. The mage could also see a bit of resignation in the woman's attitude as well as a more subdued nature that had not been present when they had first met. _She is grieving_, the elderly mage thought as she resumed her pace back to her chambers. Grieving for a son who should not have perished; for a son who should never have known the horrors he had prior to his death.

A wizened hand reached out to the knob of her door, turning as the mage realized that the Arlessa, Orlesian born, raised to believe that those under her rule were all servants and therefore unworthy of her attention, had also changed significantly in that regards. She had noticed a more patient, grateful attitude toward servants and citizens alike. _Perhaps some good can come from this tragedy_, Wynne thought as she pushed her door open and stepped inside.

DA:O

Eamon paced his study, avoiding looking at the family portrait - commissioned just two years prior - that hung over the mantle of the fireplace. Upon awakening he had learned of the tragedy that had befallen Redcliffe, learned how his enemies had managed to poison him, how his son had perished. _All because of a fear of magic_, he thought, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one large hand. The loss of his son hurt deeply, and he had trouble spending time with his wife as she had been partly to blame for the misfortunes of the village and his household. He understood her fear. However, although he still loved her, he found her company unbearable at the moment.

That his son died at the hands of Alistair hurt the older man greatly as well. Wynne and the other mage had explained, and Ser Gilmore had later confirmed, what had happened, how the young man had tried to forestall the inevitable for as long as possible. It was only when the lives of others were, yet again, threatened that he had to act. Logically, Eamon could accept it - as a noble, it was his place - his responsibility to oversee the welfare of those under his rule.

As a father, his heart was broken, and he had trouble accepting that his son - his only son and heir - was dead. And, given Isolde's age, it was unlikely that another child would be blessed to them.

He sighed, heavily, turning away from those thoughts to others that were, at this time of national crisis, far more relevant.

There was the matter of securing the throne to the Silver Knight's bloodline. Alistair was key to that preservation. He was concerned by some of the talk he had overhead from those members of Ser Gilmore's party. That the elven artisan from Denerim was the Commander of the Grey Wardens was unimaginable to the Arl. How that happened was beyond the nobleman. That she would influence Alistair in any manner was disturbing.

He knew the rumors about her and Cailan. He did not for a moment believe any of the rumors, but had nevertheless made certain that they circulated amongst the lesser nobles. Her influence over Cailan and Anora had been great. Their focus on the lovely little elf and her kind had caused more than one disruption in the Landsmeet over the years, causing other, more important matters to be placed on hold or skimmed over far quicker than the noble would have liked.

If she had that kind of influence over Alistair, all of his plans and designs for himself and Fereldan could fall by the wayside.

He had heard Ser Gilmore and the Orlesian woman talk about Adela, and it was obvious by the tone of the man's voice and the words he used that he held an affection for the elf. He tucked that piece of information to the back of his mind, hoping that the former knight's influence over the elf would counterweigh any she may have over Maric's son.

Gray eyes skimmed over to the door, as though penetrating to see down the corridors. Fortunately, he may well have the key to garner the young Theirin's attention safely sequestered in the West Wing.

DA:O

Several days following Adela's revelation regarding Loghain's Fade prison and the identity of the blood mage that held him in thrall, and Alistair was still trying to process the information. He had not been surprised so much by the fact that there existed yet another bastard son of Maric. Given what the young man knew of the king, that only two bastards had emerged was a greater surprise.

What had been difficult to accept was the fact that a son of Maric would turn to blood magic, and then seek to usurp the throne of Fereldan. From what little he knew of Cailan, he believed that he and his royal brother had similar personality traits, and he believed those traits were more hereditary than taught, given Alistair's own childhood. That a child of Maric's could go so far against the grain…it was a bit staggering.

He glanced up from his bowl, and noticed that he sat at the dinner table, alone with his thoughts. Morrigan, in a surprisingly uncharacteristic move, had decided to go down to the village and look in on the newborn. Zevran and Niall had retired to their chambers, but only after the elf had, with a suggestive waggle of his brows, suggested that Alistair and Adela join the pair of men as well. Alistair's face had heated crimson as he stuttered out an incoherent reply. Maker! He and Adela had not even…gone beyond kissing and cuddling and here the damnable elf was suggesting…! With a sly chuckle, Zev had wrapped his arm around Niall's shoulder and the two disappeared into their rooms.

Finished with his meal, he placed it into the sink, promising to clean up in the morning. He went to Adela's door and knocked, opening it upon hearing her welcome.

Adela sat on the floor before the fire, her arms wrapped around her bent knees, gazing into the fire. Smiling, Alistair made his way and sat down behind her, pulling her so that she was leaning back against him, his strong arms wrapped around her slender body. They spent the early part of the evening discussing a variety of matters - from the newest addition to the village population to wondering how their missing friends were faring in Redcliffe. That brought up more conversation from Alistair regarding his childhood, and the elf, once again, found it difficult to not resent the Arl who was supposed to have taken care of a young Alistair but instead did all in his power to make him as miserable and neglected as possible.

Her back stiffened slightly as he recounted how he had to spend weeks at a time in the kennels during a particularly bad winter storm in order to keep warm.

"I know you haven't had the best of childhoods," Adela's voice was calm, deceptively so. "Throughout your life, no one has cared for you, watched out for your wellbeing. Somehow, people found it easy to simply put you to the side. I'm still rather upset with Maric for doing so." She tilted her face so that she could look up into his down turned eyes. "I imagine that you are waiting for that moment when _I _pull the rug out from under you," she put a small hand to his cheek, and he pressed his face to its warmth, closing his eyes. She realized just how close to the truth she was. "Believe me, Alistair, when I tell you I will never betray you. I will always be keeping your well being in mind."

Alistair sighed, leaning down to place a kiss to her forehead. "I admit it, I am a little scared."

"Sometimes I forget that you did not have a family that loved you, people who looked after you. And not just parents, either," her eyes misted slightly as she thought of her family, her community and friends. "I know what it is to have people around who care for you. I know how important and empowering it can be. Eamon did not do right by you, love, and the Chantry is certainly no place for anyone to feel loved and wanted."

Alistair grinned, bending further down to place a warm kiss on her lips. Adela snuggled closer to his warmth. "I almost feel guilty sometimes."

Confused, Alistair asked, "Whatever for?"

She shrugged against his chest, brushing against the wool of his heavy shirt. "I knew your family, Alistair," she twisted in his arms, gazing up into his face. "I knew your father and your brother. You should have been there as well, but for some foolish notion you were not."

The elven woman had turned completely around in his arms, sitting cross-legged, his arms around her back. Alistair paused, staring at her, and realization dawned over him.

"Imagine that," he muttered, his brown eyes fixed upon the fire behind the woman in his arms. "If I had been able to be with my family, you and I would've met a long time ago." His eyes drifted down to Adela's face, a wistful expression therein. "We could have been friends for all of this time. Maybe…"

Adela shrugged at that, nudging his slightly with her shoulder. "We don't know that, Alistair." She grinned up at him. "Perhaps you would have been the spoiled younger son, bullied by an older brother, and so would have bullied a younger, smaller girl. You could have been a brat!" She poked him, hard, in the chest.

"Hey!" He rubbed at the spot. "I don't think so! I'd still the lovable slob I am now. Just, dressed better." He grinned. "And with more cheese!"

"I doubt that." Adela teased, smirking up into his face.

The grin left Alistair's face after a moment, and he shook his head. "Naw, it would not have worked out. I never would have become a Warden, and I just can't imagine not being one."

She reached up and kissed the bottom of Alistair's strong chin. "Who knows what would have happened, Alistair. There is a theory I once heard a very learned man talk about. He called it the butterfly effect, how one small occurrence - or a series of seemingly small, insignificant occurrences - can change and affect a much larger scheme."

The young man nodded and she continued.

"He said that everything that is set upon its current path could be altered by the smallest of things happening. Imagine that a traveler comes to a crossroads and turns left instead of right. He then goes to a village that is under attack and helps save the villagers. The scholar suggested that a rock had been placed in that crossroads, causing the traveler to trip and sprain his ankle. He then turns right instead of left, knowing that there is a farmhouse nearby. His travels would have brought him somewhere else, and the village would have perished."

"So, one small, insignificant change could have been the cause for a drastic result." Alistair replied, recalling a similar theory during one of his lessons back at the Chantry.

Adela nodded, snuggling closer to Alistair. "So, as distasteful as things were, in either of our pasts, that they happened helped to bring us together. And not just for what we have between the two of us…"

"But with regards to the Blight itself," Alistair grinned, hugging her closer. "Hmm…that's a much nicer way to look back at my childhood. As a stepping stone to you."

"Ah ha," Adela raised her face, encouraging Alistair to place his lips upon hers. Their kiss deepened as his arms tightened around her body, her hands threading through his hair.

Maybe they could talk some more…later.


	37. Chapter 37

_I am not seeking to make social commentary with this story nor be an advocate for a cause. If I wanted to write something serious, I'd go be a biographer, an advocacy writer or a historian. Maybe one of those 'self help' authors. But I'm not. I write fantasy; this story is set in a make believe world of magic, demons, and darkspawn. Oh, and Arl Eamon. _

_Thank you for taking the time for your reviews: fighter chicks (I appreciate it when people take the time to make their thoughts heard, even if I do not agree or like what they say - although I do prefer signed reviews so that a dialogue can be commenced regarding same), Biff McLaughlin, CCBug, Nithu, Eriana10, Arsinoe de Blassenville (you should really, really read these ladies' stories - they are wonderful!), tgail73, xXBeninekoXx_

_Now, to continue with the story…this chapter is supposed to be mostly fun, with a few other scenes to keep the other plots moving along (all right, it's an emotional roller coaster! I was bored!). It's also designed to get the group left at Haven through the winter as well as grow and develop the relationship between Alistair and Adela. There was an ongoing theme I had noticed from in game that I am including herein. The next update will be a while, however, as I'm kind of in a writer's block, and my other stories are demanding some attention._

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 37_

He stared about him, unsteady and disoriented. Surrounded by a field of swirling gray mist, standing upon a gray surface at once hard as stone yet soft underfoot. He placed one tentative foot in front of him, testing the stone, finding the footing solid. Gem blue eyes gazed upwards as he turned, trying to get a sense of direction. All he saw was the unending gray mist.

He vaguely remembered being strapped down and that Maker be damned ritual that the human mage had cast. The identity of the human tied down next to him was unknown to him, but he figured that he may well meet up with the man, and perhaps, together, they could figure out where they were and how they could get out. A long, slender hand tapped his hip, and the elf wished fervently he had a weapon - a dagger or a sword. Even a stick at this point would make him feel less ill at ease. A great sigh escaped his lips, and he gazed about him. There was no help for it - he could either stand here for Maker knew how long or he could try and seek a way to better his predicament.

Picking a direction - he could not be certain of what bearing he was headed - he turned and began walking, looking for any landmark, any break in the endless gray that surrounded him.

DA:O

Adela was…well…she was bored. Alone in her chambers, without even any decent reading material, she stared blankly at the ivory she held in her hand. She had started the carving weeks before they had arrived at Haven, however she just could not find the ambition to work on it. It was almost as though the vision that had inspired her had just…left.

She scowled, carefully placing the item back into her pouch. Rising, she stalked to the window, glaring out at the gently falling snow. The others had gone out: Zevran was hunting and scouting, Niall and Morrigan making their rounds as the only healers in the village, and Alistair was checking on the repairs he had made to several of the homes (she frowned. She believed he said he would be at Adelaine's house). Each and every one of them, prior to making their own exits, had instructed the elf to _not leave the Chantry _as she was still not completed recuperated from her injuries, and had developed a slight cough during her convalescence. How would they know? She felt fine. And she wanted out!

Moping, she flopped into Alistair's chair, feeling a slight sense of triumph that she was sitting in _his _chair without his permission. She was the leader, after all! Why did they think they could tell her what she could and could not do? With a peevish pout, she rose, picked up her daggers and stomped from the room.

In the chamber that had once served as the chapel, leaning against the far rear wall stood several combat dummies Alistair and Zevran had put together for practice. With a heavy sigh, the tiny elf tugged and pulled and struggled with one of the dummies, turning and spinning it upon its pedestal until it sat in center of the practice area. Glaring at the unoffending mannequin, she pulled her daggers and began stabbing, slashing and slicing at the straw stuffed dummy. After about an hour, she stood, panting heavily, leaning her hands to her knees, trying to catch her breath. She was exhausted and achy, but still bored.

She just really wanted to go outside and play in the snow.

Her blond head turned toward the heavy double doors that led to relative freedom from the stifling closeness of the building. She was the leader, after all, she reminded herself yet again. With a wince she straightened, rolled her shoulders to work out the stiffness. She went to her room and pulled out a heavy cloak and her fur lined boots. Grinning, feeling like a rambunctious child who found a way around parental rule, she pulled these on. Sheathing her daggers, she practically ran to the doors, feeling a sense of relief as her hands grasped the knobs, twisted them and getting ready to pull them open.

She was thrown off balance as the doors suddenly and unexpectedly swished open. Stumbling back from the doors, she watched as the large, snow covered and cloaked figure of Alistair stomped in, clearing the snow from his boots as he shook his cloak. She grimaced when his eyes fixed upon her, and a disapproving frown crossed his face. Feeling like a petulant child, the elven woman stood there, forcing a defiant glare to her eyes.

"What were you doing?" Alistair asked as he pushed the doors shut behind him.

Raising her chin slightly, Adela responded, "I was going outside."

Shaking his head at her, he placed a large hand to her elbow and steered her back inside. "Oh, no you were not," he scolded, moving her along with a gentle push. "You were already told you needed to remain inside until Niall and Morrigan were both satisfied you were fully recovered."

"But…" she began, but Alistair just shook his head as he reached over and unfastened her cloak, pulling it free from her shoulders.

"No 'buts'," his grin widened as he saw the rebellious look in her blue eyes. "Those are your orders, Adela."

Glaring at him, she yanked her cloak from his hands, and, with a toss of her head, stomped back to her room and slammed the door behind her.

Standing in the main chamber of the Chantry, Alistair just laughed as he shook his head.

DA:O

Elissa stretched out in the large tub, enjoying the heat of the soft, scented water that surrounded her. Leaning her head back against the tub's rounded edge, she thought back to her conversation with Arl Eamon. The offer he had made was intriguing, and she smirked at the plan the wily old politician had detailed. He truly thought she would be interested in a union with a boy who was not even an acknowledged heir of Maric. Ah, well, it would prove interesting, however she decided to play it.

She shrugged, bringing the sponge up and squeezing the water from it. How she enjoyed the finer things in life. The months she had spent on the road and in the wilds since she left Highever Castle had been rough, to put it mildly. She had been unable to locate any allies, and the darkspawn emergence had hindered her progress even further. She had been very pleased when she happened upon the wardens and their group, and watched and waited for them to separate from the annoying little elven woman. As soon as she spotted Ser Gilmore and his rather eclectic troupe she decided it was time to make her presence known. She knew that she would have had a far more difficult time insinuating herself in the group had the knife-eared wench been about.

A sigh brushed passed her lips as she frowned. She had forgotten Ser Gilmore's desire to join the ranks of the Grey Wardens, having dismissed it as inconsequential at the time of Duncan's visit to her family home. That would make it far more difficult to control him, as he was no longer sworn to her family, but was now a recruit of an organization that owed fealty to no one - noble, king or country. However, that he brought her to Arl Eamon was a stroke of good luck on her part.

Especially where it seemed that the nobleman had a wish to make an alliance with her.

Yes, yes, she grinned as she moved forward, dunking her head under the water and began to wash her long hair. Things would turn out quite nicely for her, and keep her from becoming too bored during the winter months.

DA:O

All five fireplaces within the Chantry were blazing, filling the building with soothing, penetrating heat. Outside the fortress-like walls snow fell in a blizzard as the wind howled and moaned around the building, the winter's breath whistling over the chimney tops with a fury.

Winter was now three months strong and this latest storm had been expected, at least on the villagers' part. The villagers had warned the wardens and their companions that winter could last four to five months in the mountains, and Alistair found himself briefly regretting the decision he and Roland had made with regards to how long to wait for winter to pass. With the timeline the two men had worked out, Roland and his companions, if they decided to return to Haven, could very well find themselves in the midst of another storm.

"Oh, Maker," Alistair bemoaned as they sat eating that evening's meal as another, more personal thought, hit him. Morrigan and Niall sat on the other side of Adela, with Zevran seated across from the male mage. They all looked over at the human warden as he said, "Roland is going to kill me."

Morrigan actually giggled a little at that, having a good idea as to what the ex-templar referred to. Her eyes widened innocently at Adela's questioning look.

"Why in the world would Roland kill you?" the elf asked of Alistair as she lifted the spoon to her lips.

"Yes, Alistair," Morrigan all but purred, obviously taking pleasure in the man's ill ease. "Do tell our fearless leader what transpired prior to the knight's departure."

"Alistair?" Adela was now concerned as she lowered her spoon.

"It's not as bad as Morrigan is trying to make it out," he sulked, obviously forgetting his own exclamation that started the entire conversation. "When it was obvious we'd need to remain put while you recovered, I thought that you would want us to get the ashes to the Arl as quickly as possible. So, I told Roland, Leliana and the Sten to continue on to Redcliffe and we would wait here while you recovered."

Nodding her head, the elf responded. "And I agreed completely with that decision." She did not see where the trouble was.

"Yeah, well," he smiled briefly, and continued. "Roland wouldn't hear of it. He flat out refused to follow my lead, and told me that the only way he'd listen to any commands that were not yours was if I recruited him into the Grey Wardens."

Adela's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes, Alistair. I seem to recall you telling me about that decision as well," her displeasure at recruiting Roland was still evident in her voice, and Alistair found himself wincing slightly.

Nodding his head emphatically, wondering just how much trouble he was in, Alistair replied, "Well, remember that it was at his insistence." He shrugged. "He had already all but been recruited into the Wardens by Duncan. He was determined to continue as such, and took the opportunity to make it official." Alistair frowned at the elf. "After all, although the matter had been brought up before, you never fully answered him."

Staring down at her bowl, she nodded. "I know." She sighed. "I just…purposefully subjecting someone…" she trailed off, fully aware that non-warden ears were wide open. Regardless of what she may feel, she was not about to willingly expose any secrets. She sighed. "Its okay, Alistair. We already had this talk, and I understand why you did what you did. Really, I'm fine with it."

With a flourish of her hand, she bade Alistair to continue, pointedly ignoring Morrigan's chuckle as the witch resumed her meal.

"I, ah, told him that I wasn't sending him off to, ah, get him out of the picture," he ducked his head slightly as Adela's head whipped up in astonishment. Her eyes wide, she then understood the source of Alistair's discomfort.

"Oh," was all she said, her mouth forming a perfect 'O' as the circumstance fully settled. Then, smiling beatifically at the man she loved, she said, "Just blame me." She began spooning the stew into her mouth in earnest. "Problem solved."

"Excuse me?" Alistair quipped, leaning forward, a grin on his face. "Do you really want me to say that?"

Shrugging her shoulders, she nodded. "Why not? I'm kind of getting used to being blamed for everything anyway." Then she grinned, leaning forward to place a kiss on the man's lips. "After all, you can tell him that I pursued you _relentlessly _while he was gone." She almost purred at this, bringing a flush to the young man's face.

Settling back, a goofy grin on his face, the warden nodded his head. Resuming his meal, he muttered. "I rather like that." He chuckled as he thought more on it. "I guess that can be the catch all explanation." Adela raised her head, her brow furrowed in confusion. "I'll just blame you for everything."

He did not bother to duck as Adela's napkin hit him squarely in the face.

DA:O

He felt like he was being drawn toward the palace that stood before him, the gray mists evaporating the nearer he came to the building. He knew the palace, had seen it during his trip to Denerim, and this monstrosity looming ahead of him barely resembled the majestic structure.

Bodies - elven and human - littered the streets, leading up to the palace's front gates. The wrought iron gate that opened to the vast courtyard had been ripped from their hinges, as had the grand double doors admitting entrance into the palace. He frowned, searching for a weapon he could use. His eyes settled upon the near skeletal figure of a man dressed in heavy plate, his longsword lying beside him. Expelling a sigh of relief, the elf bent down and picked up the blade, testing its balance before nodding in satisfaction. The fine blade would more than serve as a means for protection. As an after thought, he picked up the guard's shield, eyeing the armor covering the corpse. He dismissed the idea, realizing that the armor was far too big and heavy for him to effectively wear. Perhaps he could locate some leather or splint mail within the palace?

He stood before the broken doors, peering into the dark depths of the antechamber. Rubble and other ruin glared back at him, attesting to the ruin he had witnessed throughout the noble quarter. The elf knew he was not in Denerim, knew that he was not entering the palace of Fereldan. He had a suspicion that he was somehow trapped within the Fade or experiencing some hallucination, a result of the maleficar's magic. Why he was here was another story, one that he had no means of discerning at this time. With a final glance around the courtyard, the elf stepped through the doorway and into the bastion of the Fereldan royalty.

DA:O

Winter was coming to an early thaw. That was what the village elders were telling the wardens and their companions. Relief swept through the group as thoughts of rejoining the rest of their band began to take precedence. Preparations for the trek to Redcliffe had begun to be made and every day passed with inessentials being packed away and Zevran making regular forays beyond his normal hunting boundaries and further down the mountain to test the trails.

One bright, sunny day found Alistair and Adela standing in one another's arms amidst the trees by the Chantry.

"So," Alistair said lazily, smiling down into Adela's flushed face. "Have I told you lately I love you?"

Smiling up at him, she shrugged. "I seem to recall those words coming out of your mouth fairly recently."

"Hmmm…" he hummed, burying his face into her hair. "Well, it won't hurt you to hear it again, will it?"

Pulling away from him, she gazed up into his face. "I love you, Alistair."

"Ah ha!" he chuckled, swooping in for a kiss, then pulling back. "I love you, too, Adela."

He pulled her against his chest, hugging her tightly, allowing the warmth and happiness he had never felt in his entire life sweep over him. "So, tell me," he murmured. "Just which of my more manly attributes finally made you see reason?"

Giggling, she pushed him away, grinning into his face. Her blue eyes studied his features, taking in the wide smile, sparkling eyes, and face just filled with love. "All of you," came her simple reply as she settled back into the warmth of his arms.

"Really?" he asked, surprised by the response.

Nodding, she murmured. "You're not a puzzle to be examined piece by piece, Alistair. Each of your quirks, smiles, pouts, sense of humor, your heart and soul…bravery in battle, willingness to put yourself in danger for members of our group…everything that makes up the whole of you is what I love about you." She grinned up at him. "Helps you are so handsome as well."

"Handsome, am I?" he purred, rubbing his nose against hers.

"Alistair, you know you're handsome. Or have you completely dismissed all the looks you get from women wherever we go?" She grinned. "I seem to recall Zevran flirting with you more than once."

He grimaced. "Zevran flirts with anyone and anything with two legs." An expression of pure confusion crossed his face. "And just what are you talking about?" he asked, frowning slightly. "What women?"

Her head tilted back slightly. "Oh, you mean to tell me you never noticed?'

Grinning in victory, Alistair replied as he lowered his head for another kiss. "What other woman could possibly compare to the beauty I now hold in my arms?"

Adela moved her head away from Alistair's lips, a surprisingly serious look upon her face. "Really?" she tilted her head away as he dove in, again, for a kiss, hitting her cheek instead. "You are really going to tell me that you don't notice any other woman? That you don't think of being with someone else?"

Sighing heavily, Alistair settled back, staring at Adela. "Why won't you believe me when I say it's true?"

Biting the inside of her cheek, Adela shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe it's because I've seen the women who stare at you," she admitted. "Even Adelaine has an interest in your. And she's quite nice." This last part came out almost as a whisper.

Alistair's eyes widened and then he laughed, a great rumbling sound that shook his body, echoing from his chest. Adela glared at him, pulling back from him and crossing her arms to her chest. "What?" she demanded, poking him in the chest to get his attention.

"I cannot believe it!" he chuckled, tears running from his eyes. "You, of all people, are jealous!"

Frowning, she shook her head, pushing herself away from the man. "I am not!" she denied.

Shaking his head, the human pulled Adela back into his embrace, grinning away. "You _are _jealous." he teased lightly. She ducked her face away from his, trying to ignore him.

A great sigh burst from her and she glared at the man. "Well, what if I am?" she demanded, scowling.

"Why would you be?' he countered, unable to believe that this beautiful woman would be jealous of anyone. Hadn't he let her know just how much he loves her?

But Adela remained silent, a sullen look upon her face, one that betrayed more than just mere jealousy. Alistair leaned back, looking at her pose. He did not doubt that she was jealous; he recognized the look upon her face, the posture her body had assumed. He recalled assuming that posture, that look whenever he had thought of either Loghain or Roland.

But that was before Adela had proclaimed her love for him. Alistair. The unwanted baby whose father had pawned him off to a nobleman who in turn treated him little better than a servant. A nobleman who then, in turn, pawned him off to the Chantry. This elf, who understood well the love and affection of family, friends and community, loved him, accepted him. Was even angry with friends of hers - close friends - on his behalf. And, all that feeling of abandonment had vanished, wiped away.

The mirth suddenly vanished when Alistair realized that, just as he needed, she needed some acknowledgement of how much she was treasured. He had thought that his actions spoke volumes, and he told her how he felt often enough. But, jealousy was not a rational emotion. Adelaine's son, Josef, spent a great deal of time following after the man. And Adelaine herself had remarked, more times than once, how she wished for a good man, a good father figure, for her children. And that she thought quite highly of Alistair in that regard.

A gentle smile crossed Alistair's face, and he thought he understood. Although Adelaine had never made any indication of pursuing Alistair, Adela was well aware of the human woman's desire for a father for her children. And with Josef constantly following Alistair around and Alistair's helping out around her household…

He stepped nearer to the elven woman, gazing down at her. "You have nothing to worry about, you know," he softly said to her. She raised her face, quirking an eyebrow up at him. He placed his hands gently upon her shoulders.

"Really?" There was still a bit of disbelief in her voice. "Adelaine is quite pretty," she said quietly, frowning. "And obviously can give you children…"

That was it. Right there. Alistair went down to his knees, firmly gripping Adela's shoulders. "Adela," he said, his voice firm yet loving. "I know what the taint does to a Warden," she raised her eyes to his. "If you and I remain together, and never have children, I would still count myself as the luckiest man in the world because I would have you."

Adela blinked, forcing the tears back that had threatened. "I don't know why it bothers me so," she admitted, stepping closer to press her face against his chest.

Rubbing her back, he nodded. "Didn't you tell me once that, as an elf, it would have been your duty to marry and have elven children," he felt her nod in assent. "You told me that all of your life you had expected to have children. It was important to your community, and so became important to you." He gently pushed her back so that he could look into her face. "But, trust me when I say that I would be the happiest man ever to walk Thedas if all I had was you and your love to my dying days."

With those words, Adela relaxed, pulling Alistair into an embrace. She muttered 'sorry' into his chest, and he merely stroked her hair, planting a kiss upon the crown of her head.

DA:O

The snows had ceased falling, and the bright sunshine had begun to melt away the snow that remained upon the ground. Teagan had advised that within the next month spring thaw should arrive and, with that, Mud Season. Roland had chuckled at that, recalling that Mud Season in Highever was mostly brought about by the heavy rains that accompanied the arrival of spring. Further South, Mud Season was what happened when the snows melted away, leaving behind nothing but, well, mud.

The knight was getting anxious to reunite with those friends he had left behind at Haven. He was anxious to see Adela again as well. The time he had spent at Redcliffe castle, in more conversations with Arl Eamon regarding Adela and Alistair than the former knight was comfortable with, the higher his anxiety to just leave and begin their journey. However, he and Alistair had set a deadline, which was still weeks away, and one he was not going to disrupt by allowing his discomfort to unsettle him.

Besides, he really wanted to keep a closer eye on Elissa. And, honestly, he had no desire to bring her anywhere. Especially not anywhere near Adela.

He had noticed that the Cousland heir and Arl had spent a great deal of time together, all the while Eamon had pushed Isolde further and further away. At first, the knight had seriously considered that perhaps the elder Guerrin and Cousland had taken up an affair, and that thought alone had made him slightly ill. However, the more he watched, and the more Leliana - ever perceptive and watching Leliana - had informed him, the more he suspected that the conversations and time spent between the two had less to do with an alliance between Highever and Redcliffe and more of matters involving Alistair. Leliana had agreed with his assessment, and that did not make him feel any better.

And there was nothing he could do at this juncture, other than to continue to watch and be wary. Once they were united with their companions, Roland would be able to forewarn the wayward Theirin.

DA:O

The young messenger stood in the antechamber, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. He had practically run all the way from Redcliffe to Denerim, anxious to earn the bit of coin the Regent's man had offered. That amount of coin could help feed his family through the rest of the winter and through the summer!

Voices sounded from the room to his left, and the young man stopped his fidgeting, standing straighter, tugging at his tunic to make certain all was in place. He glanced down at his boots and grimaced at the mud thereupon. Although snow still covered the ground, he had still managed to get his boots dirty! Nervous, his gaze shifted upwards, hoping he had not done some outstanding insult by standing in the middle of the grand hallway with dirty boots.

He tried not to gape as the two well dressed men - obviously nobles - stepped into the hall. The blonde's eyes immediately shifted to his form, and he found himself unable to turn away from that penetrating gaze. The other man by his side was smaller, darker, with a hawkish face and hooked nose. The taller man patted the other upon the shoulder, and then, together, they stepped to stand before the young man.

He bowed deeply, knowing he stood in the midst of two noblemen. The elder of the two, the darker one, narrowed his eyes at the messenger, but the blond merely grinned.

"I understand you have news from Redcliffe?" the blond prompted.

"Ah, yes, yes, milord," the young man stammered, gasping for breath, trying to calm his nerves.

"What is your name, lad?" the same man asked, his tone friendly and soothing.

"Bowdan," he answered quickly, relaxing instantly, amazed that the man would be interested in his name.

"Ah, well, then Bowdan," the blond continued, "I am Lord Arawn. This is Teyrn Howe," Bowdan gasped again, nervously bowing to the men. "What news?"

"Oh, y-y-yes," he straightened, fumbling for the rolled and sealed parchment. "I was bid to deliver this to your hands, milord," he said as he handed the missive over.

Arawn smiled warmly at Bowdan, pulling free a pouch of silver that hung at his hip. "Here, lad," he tossed the pouch to the boy. "This is for you. I am very impressed you managed to get this communiqué to us with the roads such as they are."

The boy stood, staring at the heavy pouch he held in his hands, barely registering what Arawn had said. Then, stuttering, he thanked the man's generosity. Arawn then called the butler forward, advising that Bowdan be taken to the kitchens and there given something to eat. With a nod and a bow the butler complied, pulling a thankful Bowdan in his wake.

Smirking, Arawn turned to Howe, who was watching the exchange with mild amusement. "Is that lad going to ever see the light of day again?" the Teyrn asked, already knowing the answer.

Arawn merely grinned at his friend as he tore open the seal, his blue eyes scanning over the heavy scrawl of his agent. That grin widened significantly. "Come, Rendon," he said as he handed the missive to his friend. "Let us get a drink. I believe that you shall be having company before winter's end."

His own eyes reading over the missive, Arawn's grin was matched by Howe's own. "Indeed," the Howe murmured. "It would seem that my dearest Lady Cousland has been located."


	38. Chapter 38

_Thanks to everyone who has been following along, especially to those who review: Eriana10, Nithu, tgail73, Katrina-Irene, Gaspode, xXBeninekoXx, Biff McLaughlin_

_But especially to Arsinoe de Blassenville & CCBug, who helped me get this story back on track by helping me deal with my writer's block. I had started to doubt this story and the character of Adela and her relationship with Alistair, but they both encouraged me to just keep writing her/them as she/they come to me, rather than try and force her into a mold that just wouldn't work for her. She's not going to please everyone; so she's just going to be herself and see where that leads her._

_I am loving everyone's reaction to Elissa. She's like the anti-Adela!_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 38_

They were packed and ready to begin their trek down the mountainside and to Redcliffe. Adela stood in the center of the room that had been hers during their months-long stay in Haven. So much had happened while they were there, and yet to Adela it did not seem as though enough had been done. Her injuries while they had fought against the high dragon had put their important mission on hold. Certainly, Alistair had taken the lead (as she had always known he could) and separated the group to ensure getting the Ashes to Arl Eamon. She still felt a pang of guilt, however irrational it was, over the delay.

Other things were taking hold in her mind, and she was uncertain how to deal with them. She wished with almost childish need to be home, back at the Alienage, her father and Shianni there, ready with waiting ear to help guide and direct her. Anora's advice would be most welcome as well, for the more experienced and older woman would have an insight even her more adventurous cousin may not possess.

But Adela did not have the luxury of home or old friends. But, she did have new friends, and a new, budding love that was causing her confusion and questions.

She had been tempted so many times to and speak with Morrigan, the only woman from their band to remain behind. However, she quickly realized that Morrigan had even less experience with men or people in general than she did.

Speaking with Zevran seemed too…strange. His philosophy was to 'take pleasure where you can' and damn the rest. Not exactly the kind of advice the young elf was seeking, especially when she wanted it regarding a relationship she would hope would last for a lifetime - however long that would be.

Best to leave it all until they got to Redcliffe, she decided, raising her head and taking a determined step to where her pack lay. Once there, she could talk with Leliana, or even Wynne, to get their perspective and advice. Wynne loved giving advice, and Leliana was far more worldly than the once sheltered elf. Between the two of them, Adela was certain she would garner the guidance she needed as she treaded along in unfamiliar territory.

Alistair's voice called to her from the antechamber of the Chantry. With a sigh, she hefted her pack and, after taking one last look around to be certain she had missed nothing, the elven warden left the room and followed the others into the village and down the front stairs.

DA:O

Running her hand over her blond hair, Anora stared into the mirror, taking note of the dark circles under her eyes and the worry lines that marred the corners of her mouth. A tension was in her stomach, and she held a hand to it, trying to calm herself for the series of meetings she would have to endure that day.

So many months after the disastrous occurrence at Ostagar, and she still missed Cailan's jovial presence. They had been good together - foils for one another. Cailan's easy going manner put nobles and commoners alike at ease, his quick mind immediately open for whatever issues had brought them before them. Anora's own pragmatism and dagger sharp intellect could then ferret out the information those same nobles and commoners sought to keep hidden, and then, once all cards were on the table, find the solution necessary for the greater benefit of all.

Nowadays, she sat council either alone or with her father by her side. This day, her father would be absent, needing to attend to some issues regarding the Bannorn. However, as this meeting dealt more with the Arling of Denerim, Rendon Howe, in his capacity as the Arl, would be sitting council with her.

She shuddered. The man made her uneasy. She recalled many conversations with Cailan and Adela regarding the man, and each of them had agreed with her assessment of the scheming noble. He was untrustworthy, doing everything in his power to make it appear as though he had only the good of Fereldan at heart. But, merely speaking with the man made his very nature - selfish, calculating - come to the surface, and anyone with eyes to see could be aware.

It still baffled her why her father placed so much importance upon the vile man's shoulders.

Her elven handmaiden, Erlina, stepped lightly into the room. Her sharp eyes taking in the Queen's stoic appearance, and a small frown turned the corners of her full lips downward. Anora gave the elf a small smile, grateful for the Orlesian's presence even though she was still uncertain how much she could trust the young servant.

With a quick brush of her fingertips along her cheeks, Anora turned toward her servant. With a nod of her regal head, she stepped from her chambers, making her way to the Throne room.

Today's discussion would be dealing with the issues the Alienage had, and Anora was hoping to gather information on just what, exactly, had been going on in there.

DA:O

The elf paused, glancing down at the bodies that were strewn across the marble floor of the antechamber. Each of the bodies were in various states of decay, some appearing only hours dead, while others were nearly skeletal. A shudder coursed through his frame and he rolled his broad shoulders, hands tightening upon blade and shield as he walked past the bodies and up the flowing staircase.

The palace was eerily silent, and he paused at the top of the stairwell. To his right was a corridor devoid of debris, clearly lit and almost welcoming. To his left, rubble and debris lay scattered across the floor, the ceiling broken, allowing a view into the floor level above. The torches in the sconces spluttered, creating a wavering light down the hall. The scent of decay and rot wafted to his nose from that direction.

"The path less traveled…" he muttered, bracing himself as he turned to the left.

Stepping lightly over the debris, the elf was relieved that the body count on this level was less than on then floor below. A noise came to his ears, and he paused, staring ahead cautiously. The sounds of heavy footsteps could be heard, and the young elven man raised his weapon, preparing to meet whatever foe came his way.

He was surprised when the dangerous foe he had expected was an older human man with black hair. As the man approached, he realized that the newcomer was the same man that had been present when the blood mage performed his dark magic.

"Stop right there, human," the elf warned, his voice strong as his hands gripped weapon and shield. The human did, indeed, pause, his pale blue eyes narrowing only slightly as he took in the figure of the armed elf standing mere feet away. Slowly, he raised his hands, indicating he is unarmed.

"Who are you?" the elf demanded, standing straight and tall, gem blue eyes narrowing as he continued to stare at the human. He was certain that the human was the reason - the blame - that he had been trapped in this plane by that blood mage. And he will have his answers.

The human blinked, "My name is Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir," he introduced himself, using his full name and title as he seldom had to these days. The surprise was evident on his face that he must do so now, especially to an elf living within the confines of Denerim.

The elf nodded his head, his eyes no longer narrowed or threatening. "I have heard of you, Teyrn Loghain. In Highever, your name is spoken often as the one who saw the value of elves during the rebellion."

_Highever_? Loghain's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the elf before him. He was tall, very tall, broad shouldered, torso slimming down to narrow hips. Muscular, the elven man was built like a warrior. The confidence with which he held the blade and shield was also evident. Strange, for one from an alienage to be so familiar with weapons.

"So, you are from Highever?" Loghain asked needlessly, as the young man had already revealed as much. The elf's eyes once again narrowed as he interpreted the question as a blow to his own truthfulness.

So, the elf snorted. "Obviously, if that is where I've heard of you," he muttered. "After all, had I the pleasure of spending my entire life in Denerim's alienage, I'm certain I would have heard of you _here_."

Loghain stood, watching the young elf. Finally, the elf sighed, running a hand through his blond hair, grimacing at the length of it. "I apologize, my Lord," the elf turned and faced the human face on. "I am a bit…unnerved. Events of these past few months have been…unusual, to say the least."

Here, the human allowed himself a slight smirk. "I would have to agree with you, young man," he conceded, still watching the elf closely. The elf's handsome face scrunched up with distaste and nodded. "Might I inquire as to your name?" The elf looked up at the man, frowning. "After all, it would seem as though you and I are the only company each of us will be seeing for some time."

Sighing, the elf turned. "True. And, again, I apologize for my ill manners. My name is Nelaros Marks."

Loghain nodded at the younger man. "From Highever, obviously."

"As I said, my Lord, your name is well known amongst elves as mostly one of the few humans outside the Cousland family to understand the value of an elf by your side."

A small grin crossed Loghain's thin lips as he thought back those decades before to the Night Elves, a legion of elven archers he had the privilege of putting together. "How did you end up in Denerim?"

Nelaros smirked, "I was betrothed to perhaps the most beautiful girl ever to grace Thedas." Loghain did not miss the rather dreamy quality of the young man's voice, and he held off a roll of the eyes at such. The elf's face clouded over, though, as he continued. "She and several others from the wedding party were kidnapped by the Arl's son. Her cousin and I broke into the manor to save them. I was…too late to prevent her being assaulted, but she had fought off her attacker and managed to find us. Her cousin was badly beaten and brutalized, and another girl was killed for trying to fight back." He snorted, his eyes darkening with anger at the memory. "I thought I was dead, too. Imagine my surprise when I awoke days later in the dungeon, stripped down and tied to a rack." His gaze swept over the walls, peering further into the dankness. He was certain he had heard…something. He turned to look over at the human noble. "I think I would have preferred remaining dead."

Nelaros' eyes shifted back toward the darkness, and Loghain found his own gaze turning in that direction as well. Yes, there was something moving about, just down the corridor. What it was, neither man could tell. It shuffled and scraped along the floor, sounding almost as though it was dragging a heavy burden behind it. Nelaros scanned the ground, spying another well armed and armored body lying thereupon.

"Arm yourself, my Lord," the elf said as he straightened, bracing himself.

Loghain's own eyes scanned the floor, but…"With what?" he snorted, scowling at the elf's back. "There are no weapons or armaments nearby."

Confusion marred Nelaros' face, and the elf glanced back down at the body. "There is the body of a guardsman just three feet from where you stand," he instructed, turning his eyes back to the corridor.

"No, there is not."

Sighing, not ready to try and puzzle that out, Nelaros handed the human his own sword and shield, and then bent down to retrieve the longsword and heavy shield upon the body. Loghain's eyes widened as he saw the weapon and shield appear in the elf's hands, and his gaze swept back to the floor. He still did not see the body of the guard, and briefly wondered at that as he shifted his own stance, holding the blade at the ready, the shield firmly attached to his forearm.

The elf's stance stiffened slightly, and the scraping dragging noise became louder. Nelaros started whispering something, and Loghain realized it was a prayer, spoken in elvish. He glanced over at the elf, wondering where he had learned Dalish. He thought he recognized some of the words spoken coming from Adaia's lips during their battles together during the rebellion.

A hissing sound accompanied the other, and both men could feel the heat emanating from the direction they faced. They spared a glance toward one another, their faces set, weapons ready as the form flowed into view.

Flowed seemed an appropriate description of how the being that pursued them entered their field of vision.

DA:O

The snow was melting, and bright sunshine shone through the window of the opulent room provided by Arl Eamon. Elissa sighed contentedly as she turned the page of the book of Orlesian poetry she had borrowed from the estate's expansive library. Seated upon the window box, she leaned back against the warm glass of the window, soaking up the sunshine and warmth.

She tugged the woolen blanket over her lap, straightening out the folds of the skirt to her dress. There was a slight noise to her right, and she glanced up briefly. Everything was in its place, and she turned back to her book.

A noise in the sitting room of her suites roused her from her study, and she rose, irritated at being disturbed. Opening the door, she peered in. Seeing nothing amiss, she shut the door firmly. Straightening, she started to turn to head back to her window perch when a strong arm went around her waist, a dagger pressed firmly against her neck.

"Ah, your Ladyship," a smooth Fereldan voice, accompanied by hot breath, said in her ear. "You have been most difficult finding."

With a sigh, she allowed her body to relax. "Who would be so interested in my whereabouts, might I ask?" her voice held an almost bored quality, and the man behind her chuckled.

"His Grace, Teyrn Howe, requests the pleasure of your company," the hand at her waist shifted, and he turned the young woman about. A plain, bearded face, smirking, greeted her. A quick glance about told the young noblewoman that at least four other men, dressed in dark leathers and hooded, stood in the shadowed corners of her room.

"_Teyrn _Howe, is it?" she scoffed, turning her glare to the one who had physically assaulted her. "Why should I care if he desires my presence or not?"

The hand at her waist moved upwards, clasping her forearm in a vice like grip. "Come now, My Lady," her assailant all but purred. "That is for the two of you noble folk to discuss. Not something we commoners would know a thing about."

Rolling her eyes, she glared at the man, upset for the disturbance to her daily routine. She glanced down at the dagger in his hand, and the others openly sheathed (and she was certain that there were many more hidden upon the lanky body).

"And what, if say, I should scream?" the Lady asked, a dark brow quirking upwards toward her hairline.

That chuckle again, and then he replied, "'Twould be an awful shame, that, your Ladyship," his voice took on a decidedly darker quality while still managing to retain the playfulness the conversation had began with. "I'd have to kill whoever came through that door, and you would still have to accompany me back to Denerim." He shrugged. "No great loss, really. But my orders are to retrieve you and bring you back, unharmed. If we get into a tussle here…" he offered another shrug, his intentions clear.

Elissa stared at the man for a moment. "Denerim?" Elissa asked, frowning. "I would have thought Howe would be at Highever."

Howe's agent merely shrugged his shoulders. "Man's collecting titles and properties like a whore does coin," he remarked, gesturing her toward her wardrobe. "Now, you'd best get better attired for travel, your Ladyship. The snow's are cleared, but air's still a mite bit cold."

Glaring at him, she turned toward her wardrobe, and began pulling out traveling clothes.

DA:O

Nelaros spun about, his blade and shield raised as Loghain rushed passed. The pair stood for the moment, Loghain bent over, hands on knees as the elf scanned the area.

With a glance to his companion, Nelaros asked, "Feeling your age, I take it, Your Grace?"

Loghain shot the impudent man a glare and then straightened, moving to take his stance by the elf's side. "Damnable demons," the Teyrn muttered, glaring into the dank darkness that surrounded them.

"Encounter them often?" Nelaros asked, the slightest hint of fear coloring his voice.

Nodding, Loghain replied, "When I was first being trapped herein, I had the misfortunate of encountering the vile things often. However," he turned his gaze outwards. "They were not intent upon harming me, merely scaring me while containing me."

"I take it the containment worked," Nelaros did not mean for the sharpness in his tone to carry through, but he and Loghain had already figured out that Nelaros, for whatever reason, had been trapped in the Fade as a means to contain Loghain. A bit of resentment was only natural.

Loghain, his own mind on the same train of thought, restrained his irritation at the elven man. "So it would appear." He drawled out instead, his eyes sharp and intent upon the gloom.

A grimace crossed Nelaros' face. "How many does that make?" he asked, having lost count of how many of the fiery demons they've had to face. Now he wished he had taken the time to armor himself, even with the heavy plate humans seem to love so much. His clothing was burnt, as were portion of his flesh. Some of his hair had been singed as well. He glanced around, looking for armor while he awaited Loghain's tally.

"I would say four, and several of their lesser minions," the human muttered, rubbing a burn mark on his hand. "I cannot hear anything further at the moment."

"Perhaps they have given up their pursuit?" the elf asked hopefully, although he truly doubted it.

A great sigh heaved from Loghain's thin lips. "I would doubt it highly," he muttered. "My foe is relentless."

"Humph," Nelaros scoffed. "Too bad they take it so easy on you. They seem very determined to kill me."

Loghain nodded, shifting his sword to his shield hand to clap a reassuring hand to the elf's broad shoulder. "I do apologize for that, young man," he almost smirked at the surprised glance the younger man shot him.

He bit back a scathing retort, knowing full well it would do no good. Loghain was as much a prisoner - perhaps more so - as he. After all, at the very least Nelaros was being offered escape through death. Who knew that torments awaited Loghain within the Fade?

"I wonder how much time has passed," the elf murmured to try and keep his mind active and to break the silence. He knew keeping quiet would not serve them so well here. The demons seemed to know where they were regardless of what stealth they utilized.

There was the sound of cloth rustling as Loghain shrugged his shoulders. "It is difficult to say, here in the Fade. Despite the amount of time I have spent herein, I still have not quite mastered my surroundings." _Unlike another_, he thought as his gaze continued to pierce the gloom.

"I had always thought only mages could traverse the Fade," the elf remarked.

"This mage has magics I have never seen before," Loghain answered. "But, I do know of one non-mage who seems able to traverse the Fade easily enough."

"I don't suppose you could contact this someone, could you?" there was sarcasm in the elf's voice, but also some hopeful questioning.

Shaking his head, Loghain replied, "I had tried, when I first found myself here. Just before encountering you." He frowned. "But either she is dead or the wards Arawn has placed around this prison are stronger than before…I cannot say."

"She?" Nelaros raised an eyebrow, determined to not give into despair. Mindless and pointless banter could help in that.

Pale blue eyes narrowing, Loghain settled his steady gaze upon the elf. "Indeed." Was all he replied.

An hour passed, and the pair remained unmolested. Nelaros asked Loghain if there was a room he felt was defensible, and the human nodded, leading the elf to his room. Perhaps they could get some rest before their next battle.

DA:O

"What do you mean, she's gone?" Eamon shouted, pushing passed the servant and stepping into the room he had allocated to the Lady Elissa.

The young elven servant stammered an apology. "Her…she and her belongings are gone, Your Grace."

Eamon closed his gray eyes, muttering slightly under his breath. With Elissa's disappearance, his plans for securing the throne under Alistair would greatly be hampered. Collecting his thoughts and his temper, he turned to the frightened young woman.

"Have Ser Perth and his knights meet me in the great hall," he instructed with a wave of his hand. The servant nodded once, and then quickly scampered away, trying to put as much distance between herself and her lord.

Ser Perth and four of his knights met with the Arl within the hour. After obtaining their orders to thoroughly search the surrounding areas for the Lady Cousland, the knight took his leave.

Once they were out of the hall, he glanced back, puzzled as to why the Arl was so adamant on their finding the wandering noblewoman. After all, Lady Cousland had arrived with the companions and was not in any way bound to either that group or the Arl himself. If she had decided to leave…

The young man shook his head, astonished with himself for even questioning his orders. However, he had taken note that the Arl had been behaving strangely since his awakening from the poison induced coma. And his attentions to the young woman had been…unnerving at best. With a nod to his men, the knight mounted up, and, with a final reiteration of their orders, the knights separated to search for the wayward noble.


	39. Chapter 39

_Thank you all so very much for the overwhelming support and interest I've seen for this story. Favs and alerts still keep coming up, and the reviews! Thanks to everyone for reading, but most especially those who take the time to review: mutive, Nithu, Katrina-Irene, Arsinoe de Blassenville, CCBug, Superstar Kid, Biff McLaughlin, Shakespira_

_As an aside, I had trouble deciding on the last name for Nelaros. I could not find it in the wiki or codex. So, I just made one up. Well, not really. The guy who voiced him in game was Stefan Marks. I loved his voice so much that I decided that would be his last name: Marks. *grins* Aren't I clever? No? Ah, well…_

_Ahm…anyway, back to the story…_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 39_

"I thought that you said that the snow had melted," Adela griped, pouting at Alistair's broad back.

"No," the man responded, patience wearing thin at this point. "I said that the villagers advised that the weather had broken early, and that we should be able to get through the pass without any real problems." He adjusted his cloak, pulling it over the leather of the armor he wore when they were walking. Despite being strong enough to carry his heavier armor with ease, trudging through knee high snow wearing it was another matter entirely.

Making a face at his back, Adela trudged through the snow, which came to mid-thigh, glancing around at the bare trees and rocks as they made their way through the mountainside pass. She gave a great sigh, smirking over at Morrigan and Niall, who trudged along just in front of her. She glanced back toward the village, now many hours behind them. Brother Genetivi had decided to remain until the roads were completely clear. He advised them to visit him in Denerim when summer returned.

"I thought you wanted to get outside," Alistair continued, glancing back at the elven woman, a slight grin on his handsome face. "Well," he waved a hand to encompass the entire outdoors, "we're outside."

"No," Adela retorted, dragging the word out several syllables. "I wanted to get outside and _play_." She tossed her hands into the air. "You know: make snowmen, have snow ball fights, make snow angels…fun stuff. This," she waved at the path. "is definitely _not _fun stuff."

Morrigan sniggered and Niall merely shook his head.

"Adela," Alistair said, putting on his best mature voice, unconsciously mimicking a tone of voice Duncan had used on the young man many, _many _times, "we are Grey Wardens. You are the Commander of the Grey. We have to act more dignified."

"Yeah," she snorted, muttering. "Because that so is us, right down to our small clothes."

Choking, Alistair stumbled. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," she moped, kicking at the offending snow. The elven woman glanced around, and then bent down to the snow. Rising, patting the snow she held, she called out in a sing-song voice. "Oh Alistair."

Heaving a heavy sigh, Alistair stopped, shaking his head. "What?" he asked as he turned about. He sputtered as the cold ball of snow hit him squarely in the face.

"Oh, nothing," Adela giggled, giving out a shriek as the man decided to forgo his earlier decision of maintaining quiet dignity, and dove at the smaller elf. She easily side stepped his lunge, but not the reach of his arms. Wrapping them fully around her slender form, Alistair brought her down, onto her back, into the snow, complete oblivious of the two mages who watched with quiet amusement as he rolled to cover her body with his, tickling at her all the while.

Giggling, breathless, Adela exhaled sharply to blow the strand of hair from her eyes. Gazing up into Alistair's soft amber gaze, she giggled. "Dignity, huh?"

Chuckling, he bent his face down to kiss her gently on the lips. "Yup. That's us. We are the Fereldan Grey Wardens. Dignity is our motto."

"And darkspawn fear us for it, right?" she asked as she raised a hand to brush the hair and snow from her love's eyes. Alistair's grin widened and he dove in for another kiss.

"Ahem," they heard Zevran's smooth accented voice from above. "You know, my two dear wardens, had I realized that there was to be a party, I would have never taken point."

Blushing slightly, the two young people pushed themselves up, Alistair lending a hand down to Adela and hoisted her to her feet. As they brushed the snow from each other, Adela said, "Well, perhaps we should just…get down off the mountainside."

"Excellent idea," Zevran purred, brushing snow from the female elf's shoulder, smirking over at Alistair.

DA:O

The silverite armored knight brushed his auburn hair back from his brown eyes, staring obediently at his liege lord. Arl Eamon was disappointed, to say the least, at the knights' inability to locate the wayward Lady Cousland. They, along with several of Mayor Murdock's men, scouted the surrounding area thoroughly, but it seemed as though the young woman had simply vanished into thin air. A cloud crossed the arl's ragged features, but he graciously thanked the men for their efforts before dismissing them.

Ser Perth paused for a moment and then followed his men from the great hall of Castle Redcliffe. One of his men, Ser Thomason, was waiting for him just outside the double doors that led from the great chamber.

He was nervous, something Ser Perth had never thought he would see on the overly confident blonde's face. But, he was, and that only made Ser Perth's own anxiety more pronounced.

"Out with it, Ian," Ser Perth commanded as the man joined him by his side, matching stride for stride as they exited the castle.

"I am uncertain how to broach the subject, Dorian," the knight said with familiarity to his superior. Off duty, Ser Perth was not one to enforce protocol.

"How about with words, Ian," Perth admonished, trying to chuckle but it only came out as a cough.

Ser Thomason nodded his head knowingly, "So, you feel it, too."

Perth continued on his way to the barracks, glancing sidelong to his lifelong friend. Finally, "Yes," he admitted. "Our Arl has not been…himself since awakening."

"Do you think those mages had anything to do with it?" came Thomason's question, but, after a moment's thought, Perth shook his head.

"Nay. They fought alongside us to banish the evil brought about by the demon that inhabited young Connor. I doubt very much they have anything to do with our Arl's odd behavior."

Thomason snorted, not quite agreeing, but not disagreeing either. "If not the mages, then what?"

Here Dorian Perth paused, gazing out over the lake that had been the site of his home since childhood. He had been in the Arl's service as a squire since he was a lad of merely eleven summers. During his twenty year tenure the Arl had been a gracious master, if sometimes foolhardy and overly indulgent when it came to his Orlesian born wife and his own duties regarding the boy Alistair had been. Turning to Thomason, he could only shrug his shoulders. "In order to find the answer to that," he said as he resumed his walk. "I would need be a far wiser man than I am."

Ian Thomason looked at his friend's back, and then, with a sigh, jogged to catch up. He had no answers either.

DA:O

The fire blazed in the fireplace, and food had been laid out upon the room's sole table. Confusion marred Nelaros' handsome face as he stepped fully into the room that resembled Loghain's at the palace.

"So, you actually eat while in the Fade?" the elf asked as he neared the table, his sword and shield hanging at his sides.

Loghain shrugged as he settled his weapon and shield down next to a chair, and then seated himself, taking some of the food. "It seems that when there is food provided here, that my…real body is gaining sustenance in some fashion." He looked up at the elf. "I would suggest you partake of this as well, elf. I am hazarding a guess that if you can interact with it easily, it was provided for you as well."

Frowning, the elven man took a seat, setting his shield and sword against his leg and then reached for the food.

As Loghain suggested, he was able to gather food to a plate and eat what appeared to be turkey, potatoes, bread and cheese. Water and wine were provided in carafes and the elf gratefully poured himself a full cup of water.

They ate in silence for a while, each concentrating upon the food before him. Despite it being unreal, Nelaros found that the meal left him satisfied. He looked up to see Loghain watching him.

Tearing the piece of bread he held in two, the elf prompted, "Yes?"

"As it appears we shall be each other's company for some time," the Teyrn remarked, picking up a goblet filled with water. "I thought perhaps we could talk."

Nelaros chuckled slightly. "From all I hear of you, Your Grace, you are not one for idle banter."

Answering the elf's chuckle with a low one of his own, Loghain nodded. "True enough. However, after having spent far too much time alone," he waved an arm to indicate not only his room, but the Fade itself. "I find myself relishing the idea of talking with someone new."

Chewing thoughtfully, the elf nodded. Swallowing, he replied, "Yes, I can see how even the most…recluse of people could get tired of only this," he nodded his chin at a wall, "and demons as company." He put the rest of his bread down, folding his arms before him. "So, what would you like to ask or discuss?"

His pale blue eyes fixed to the elf's darker, more gemlike blues, he shrugged. "Anything, truly. How you came to travel to Denerim instead of your betrothed going to Highever; your family; the girl's family; news of Highever." He chuckled in a self deprecating fashion. "Truly anything of interest would be welcome."

Laughing, the elf nodded. "Well, my family is well respected in the Highever alienage," the younger man began. "We are craftsmen at the best of times, carpenters and blacksmiths when money is sorely needed and there is not much demand for the more delicate crafts." he smiled. "Actually, my family and my betrothed's had a great deal in common. As far as my going to Denerim, it seemed only fair. The last exchange had the Denerim elf traveling to Highever. The elders agreed that it a far exchange for me to go to Denerim instead of her coming to Highever."

Loghain nodded thoughtfully. "I've not much news, I fear, since events at Ostagar. I do know, however, that the Cousland family was attacked by Arl Howe." He saw the concern cross Nelaros' face. "I am sorry. I do not know how the surrounding area of Highever fares. All I know is that the Couslands were all killed."

Nelaros kept silent for some time, his head bowed. "It is a shame," he whispered, raising his blond head. "The Couslands were perhaps the only noble family in all of Fereldan that treated everyone - human and elf - as equals." He ignored the scowl that formed on Loghain's face. "That they are no longer…it does not sit well with me, and I am certain, many others throughout the country."

Loghain remained quiet, thoughtful, and then spoke up. "They were a family loyal to kith and kin, duty always first, country and king always to be supported. I had the honor of fighting beside Bryce and Eleanor during the rebellion, but it was when the nobles called for Bryce to assume the throne upon Maric's death, and his thoughtful refusal, that my respect for him and his family increased." The commoner turned noble frowned. "They were perhaps one of the few noble families that had accepted me as being on equal footing, all things considered."

"It would seem that Howe has much to answer to," the elf replied, his eyes thoughtful. "If he is aligned with the blood mage that has captured you…" He let the thought drift off, uncertain how to proceed, uncertain, completely, of the true ramifications of Howe's actions. After all, as an elf from an alienage, he had not much knowledge regarding politics and nobles. For all he knew, Howe's actions may well meet with approval from the other nobles.

"Ah, well," the elf stammered slightly, smirking at the human. "Let us see, my betrothed. As I said, my family and hers had a great deal in common."

"Oh, is that so?" Loghain asked as he spooned some potatoes into his mouth before taking a sip of water.

Nelaros nodded, smiling fondly. "Indeed. Although her family is a great deal more acknowledged as some of the finest artisans in all of Fereldan."

Loghain stopped chewing, his eyes fixed upon the young elf's face. "Artisans, you say."

"Indeed. Her father, Cyrion Tabris, is known far and wide as perhaps the finest sculptor - human or elf - in all of Fereldan. His daughter, Adela, had apprenticed under him, but I have never seen any of her works."

Loghain had gone quiet, and Nelaros frowned slightly, searching the older man's face. A dawning realization came over him, and he asked, "Do you know the Tabris family?"

His eyes refocused upon the younger man. So _this had been the man Adela had been betrothed to?_ He studied the elf's features, truly taking in their look at this time. He looked past the beauty that so many elves possessed and truly looked at the man. He saw strength, determination, great will and a strong sense of what was right. His eyes were sharp, watchful, and he knew from battling at this man's side that he would risk anything to protect those around him. The man's own tale of how he had come into Arawn's possession spoke volumes.

This would have been a man he would have chosen for Adela, if he had to choose anyone other than himself. Realizing the young man was awaiting an answer, Loghain slowly nodded. "I do, indeed, know the Tabris family." He smirked slightly. "How much of their history do you know?"

Nelaros frowned slightly, shaking his head. "Only that they are a family of artists of great renown," he admitted, feeling a little sheepish that he had, in fact, known very little of the family he had been set to marry into.

"Ah," Loghain muttered, then raised his voice slightly. "So, you do not know anything about her mother?"

"Only that she died when Adela was very young."

Nodding, Loghain then asked, "Adaia Tabris, formerly Adaia Mahariel, fought by my side during the rebellion." He smirked at the widening of the other man's eyes.

"She was a Night Elf?" he asked, reverence in his voice.

Loghain scoffed. "Hardly. She was a Dalish Hunter, second in her clan. She and her hunters had saved Maric's life at West Hills." His smirk widened to a grin as the elf's obvious respect for his affianced mother grew. "From there, she and those hunters she commanded fought at our side, helping to defeat our Orlesian conquerors."

"Why, then, no mention of her?" Nelaros asked, confused by the omission. After all, the Night Elves had been mentioned.

Loghain shrugged. "Bad enough historians had to admit to the existence of the Night Elves," the Teyrn speculated. "I think they felt justified including the Night Elves because they were a regiment I had recruited."

"But to mention Dalish elves fought by the king's side…"

Loghain shrugged. "Who knows? Maric and Rowan were furious when they had received the 'official' accounting of the rebellion. So, we wrote one of our own." Loghain frowned, snorting. "I understand few have read it."

"From the hands of the king and heroes who saved Fereldan, and no one wants to read it because of the truth of the words?" Nelaros asked, scowling. "Typical."

"Far easier for humans to believe elves inferior in all matters," the human said, eyeing his companion. "Those of us who have fought beside elves know well the ferocity of their skill, especially with bow and arrow."

"I think perhaps my family made out far better with this match then the Tabris family did," Nelaros muttered, frowning. "Artists of renown and now I learn Adela is descended from a hero of the rebellion. I knew she was special."

"Ha!" Loghain scoffed, frowning at the young man. "You claim she is special because of her family, yet you do not really know the value of the woman herself."

A perfect brow rose at Loghain's words. "I take it you knew my betrothed quite well." There was a tone in the elf's voice Loghain did not like, nor could he truly repudiate.

Frowning, Loghain replied, "Not as well as you are insinuating, boy." _Or as well as I would like._

"But you would have liked to," he shot back, echoing the other man's thoughts.

Loghain leaned back in his chair, staring at the elf for a moment. "Perhaps." He watched as Nelaros' frown turned into a deep scowl. "However, that is neither here nor there. Would you like to know what happened to Adela after her escape from the manor?"

The elf perked at that, and quickly nodded his head. "Apparently, she had killed the Arl's son, and managed to get everyone else out of the manor." Loghain frowned. "I do not know what happened, because I did not know she had been kidnapped and assaulted. When I saw her at Ostagar, she had not mentioned any of this to me."

"Ostagar?"

The Teyrn nodded. "She had been conscripted into the Grey Wardens," his smirk returned as the elf's eyes widened. "From what I have gathered, she and another warden managed to escape the debacle at Ostagar, and are now the only grey wardens in all of Fereldan."

"Is it a Blight?" the elf asked, his hands clenching before him.

"I believe it is," Loghain answered. "Adela is the one I told you of that can traverse the Fade. She and I met several times, but I had always believed her either a dream or a demon playing on my…desires. From what I managed to piece together from our talks and from what little Howe and Arawn would reveal, they are gathering allies to fight against the Blight. And, ironically, me."

"You?" Nelaros shook his head. "How is that possible? You are a prisoner."

"To a blood mage," Loghain reminded the other man. "Arawn has been using me as a blood puppet. Apparently, I am the one ordering assassins to kill the last of the wardens. I am the one who has the Bannorn riled up. Apparently, I am the Regent."

The elf let out a low, long whistle. "That…could prove distracting when you try and convince everyone you weren't in control."

Loghain nodded. "I believe I have Adela convinced that I am not in control of my faculties." He shrugged his broad shoulders, pushing his plate of half-eaten food away. "I only hope she did believe me and that she yet lives."

Nelaros turned away from the human, his eyes dark with thought. Nodding his head, he responded, "I hope so as well, Your Grace."

DA:O

Wind brushed the wisps of red hair back from the strong features of the young knight-turned-warden recruit as he stood upon the battlements of Castle Redcliffe. Elissa Cousland had disappeared over a week prior, and no sign of the adventurous noblewoman had been turned up.

Roland was not, however, concerned over the fate of the young woman. She had carefully packed all of her belongings, leaving nothing behind. And while the Arl thought that strange, Roland knew, from previous experience with the young woman, that it was all too true to her nature.

What worried Roland was the Arl's behavior since her disappearance.

True, the nobleman had once again began to keep company with his wife. The Arlessa was making great strides in her recovery, both physically and emotional. She continued to grieve for her son, yet she seemed determined to make things right. She had, during one of their many talks, confided in Wynne that she was responsible for the misfortune to settle over Redcliffe and she was determined to make things are right as she possibly could. To that end, she had taken several personal items - jewelry and other items she had come into the marriage with - and arranged for Leliana to get the best price she could for each piece. The bard had traveled to Denerim, knowing of a jeweler therein who would be reasonable about pricing as well as prompt in payment.

Upon the bard's return, the Arlessa had then taken the funds procured and gave more than half to the Chantry to use for those poor folk displaced or otherwise affected by the Undead Plague (as it had been dubbed). The other half she had given directly to the Mayor, advising him to use the funds toward the rebuilding of the village homes. And while Mother Hannah had seemed nonplussed by the Arlessa's uncharacteristic charity, Murdock made no bones about thanking the woman as well as expressing how the funds would go about toward helping a great many who had lost so much.

Roland smiled slightly. The change over the Arlessa was greatly welcome, and he had seen how happy the woman had been once her husband had started appreciating her company once more. The Arl, however, continued to fret over the disappearance of the young Cousland, despite Roland's assurances that her disappearance was well in character for her. He shook his head as he recalled his conversation with the Arl just an hour prior.

"How can you be so certain?" Eamon demanded, glaring at the younger man. "Howe could very well have kidnapped her!"

Roland shrugged his broad shoulders. "Would Howe's men truly have let her pack all of her belongings - including the fine gowns Lady Isolde had given her?" He frowned. "Your Grace, I have known Lady Cousland since we were children; she often disappeared, sometimes for weeks on end. It would drive the Teyrn and Teyrna to distraction whenever she did thus, but she always returned."

Eamon's glare softened slightly as he studied the young man. With a heavy sigh, the older man nodded his prematurely gray head. "And where she had no duty to remain here, you truly believe she would have simply up and left without word?" There was a tired resignation in the man's voice, and Roland fought to keep from narrowing his eyes at the other.

With a nod, he answered, "I do."

Eamon turned from the former knight, hands clasped behind his back as he turned his gaze toward the great window that overlooked the lake. He had dismissed the other man with a nod, continuing his contemplation of the world outside the castle's walls.

Now he lifted his face to the wind and closed his eyes. The sooner Adela and the others returned from Haven (and he was determined to remain optimistic that she would return), the sooner they can all leave the Arl's hospitality.

DA:O

The fire crackled, and Adela leaned forward, her hands held out to the warming flames. Alistair sat next to her, tending to his weapons and shields. Zevran and Niall were cheerfully preparing that evening's meal, the Antivan promising something more palatable than the grey lamb stew Alistair insisted upon making.

"Trust me, my dear Warden," Zev had purred as he chopped herbs and tossed them into the pot. "You will appreciate the Antivan cuisine far more than that tasteless gruel your young Warden seems to fond of."

"Hey!" said young warden exclaimed, scowling over his shoulder at the cheeky assassin. "I'll have you know that my stew is a popular dish here in Fereldan."

"Oh, is that so?" the elven male quipped, placing cut up rabbit meat into the pot and giving the ingredients a stir.

"Yeah," Alistair continued, turning his eyes back to the sword and oil rage. "You take lamb and peas, put them in a pot with some water, and then cook it until it comes out a uniform gray color." He smacked his lips. "Hmmm…"

Zevran scoffed as Adela giggled lightly. "Tasteless as well as thick, sloppy and gray?" He shook his blond head. "No thank you, my dear Alistair. Tonight, we shall eat well of food that tastes as good as it looks."

The young warden merely shrugged his broad shoulders as he reached for his shield. "Yeah, well, your loss."

Smiling, Adela reached over and placating patted Alistair's arm as Zevran picked up the pot and placed it over the fire. The young man, without looking up, returned her smile with his own.

During this, Morrigan had settled near Adela, her strange yellow eyes fixed upon the leaping flames in the fire pit. As Adela turned her own attention back to the fire's warmth, she glanced at the witch. Morrigan, noticing her look, turned fully to the young elf.

"Might I a moment of your time?" the human woman asked of the elf. Adela nodded turning fully to face her friend. After a moment's pause, Morrigan shifted closer to the elf, leaning forward just slightly. "I am wondering if you have taken time to think over my request."

Adela's brow furrowed for a moment, and then, recalling the conversation she and Alistair had had between the two of them and then, later, with Morrigan, she nodded.

Morrigan let out a breath, unsure how to proceed. She was, after all, asking for a favor. One that could well endanger the very lives of her companions - her friends - as well as their overall mission. And, while she would completely understand if the elf had decided against such a course of action, that selfish part of her was already raging against it.

Taking a deep breath, the witch asked, "And has a decision been rendered?"

Smiling softly, Adela placed a small, calloused hand upon the soft forearm of the lovely mage. "Morrigan," the witch raised her eyes to look directly into Adela's blue eyes. "Alistair and I both agree that it is well worth our time and effort to make certain that you are free of any threat from Flemeth." Her smile widened slightly as Morrigan's eyes opened with astonished gratitude. Alistair chuckled from beside the women.

"My thanks," Morrigan said, almost as a whisper. Then, glancing over at the male warden, she said, "My thanks to you as well, Alistair. It is…most appreciated and somewhat of a surprise that you would both agree to such a course."

"Why?" Alistair asked, this time raising his eyes from his work.

The witch shrugged gracefully, the feathers upon her shoulder fluttering lightly with the movement. "You and I do not always see eye to eye," she reminded the ex-templar, who merely snorted at her words. "The Blight must be stopped at all costs, and yet you have both agreed to take on a quest that, frankly, has no affect to your mission in one way or another."

"There you are wrong," Adela put in, smiling at the woman. "Forget that we do this out of true friendship and concern for your well being," she chuckled slightly at the roll of Morrigan's eyes. "If we need to worry about your mother popping out of the woods at any moment to claim your body as her own, that would really hurt our mission."

"We rely upon you a great deal," Alistair put in, still watching the witch as she nervously fidgeted with her hands. "You saved Adela's life when the high dragon caught her." Morrigan actually blushed as the emotion so evident in Alistair's voice.

"And you have proven time and again to our cause," Niall put in from behind the group, smirking as the others turned to the normally quiet mage.

"You cannot fool us any longer, my beautiful swamp witch," Zev purred as he stirred the contents of the pot that was now hanging over the fire. "We are on to you and your wily witchy ways."

Morrigan looked from one friend to another, completing the circuit until her gaze finally rested upon Adela's open face. "'Tis a strange thing," the witch said bemusedly, picking up a stick and tossing it into the flames. "To have friends." She tilted her raven dark head, a true smile upon her face. "'Tis a nice change from the constant solitude found in the Wilds."

Adela returned the smile, rubbing Morrigan's arm before moving away. "You will always be my friend, Morrigan." This was followed by a course of masculine voices conceding the same.

Taking another glance around at her friends - and it did feel very good to acknowledge them as such - she rose and went to where her poultice making supplies lay. Adela and Alistair exchanged a grin, and the human went back to cleaning his shield while Adela's gaze settled, once more, upon the open flames.

DA:O

A week's travel from Redcliffe Castle. Mordred scowled at the young lady riding next to him. He had never been so pleased to see the gates of Denerim in all of his life as he was now.

The noblewoman had proven difficult and overly demanding, and many of his men had wanted to take the inconvenience she caused them out in trade. Mordred, however, had to report personally to Teyrn Howe and there was no way he was going to explain to the vicious little man that his prize had been compromised by his own men. With sharp tongue and threatened violence, the assassin leader was able to curb his men. But just barely.

With a nod, the mounted group - Elissa in the center, flanked on all sides by Mordred and his men - passed by the city guards and into the city.

About a half hour later, the group stood in the main hall of the Denerim Manor. With an order to his men to take Lady Cousland to Teyrn Howe's personal chambers, Mordred went off in search of his employer, who was on his way to the main hall. They spoke briefly, and a look of irritation flashed through Howe's eyes. With a nod, he dismissed his man, and hurried to his chambers.

Elissa stood in the center of the room, still flanked by Mordred's men. With a curt word of dismissal, the two nobles were alone.

Howe's eyes raked over the proud form of the Lady Cousland, taking in every detail of her form before raising his eyes to settle upon her dark, angry orbs. A roguish smile crossed the man's craggy features, and he took a step forward, placing himself within feet of his prize.

"You have caused a great deal of stress, my dear," Howe's voice flowed, purring, tsking at her as he smiled. "And I understand you caused Mordred and his men quite a bit of…difficulty en route here."

Lifting her proud chin, the Cousland noble glared at the man. "They are beneath me," she replied. "They are scoundrels and shall be treated as such."

Howe shook his head. "Mordred has served me well for many years, my dear."

"Teyrn, is it?" she asked, slight fatigue and anger in her voice, changing the subject.

"Ah, yes," he smirked, "The Regent was most generous for my unraveling a plot by the traitorous Highever nobles." He tilted his head, smirking at the irate look that crossed the young woman's face. "Plotting with Orlais is considered treason, you know."

Elissa snorted. "And I suppose you are going to tell me that a seven year old boy was in on the plot?" She took a step forward. "I suppose he was plotting to line the borders with his toy soldiers."

Howe smiled, raising a hand to gently brush the hair that had fallen at the woman's shoulders. "The line of succession had to be clear," he murmured, his eyes sweeping down the length of her shoulder and to her hand.

"Fergus…"

"Is dead," the Howe remarked, picking up the noblewoman's hand, which was limp, in his own warm and larger hand. "He was, after all, at the disastrous battle at Ostagar. There was no sign found of his regiment. Save for a few body parts."

Elissa winced slightly at that. "So that means…"

"That you, my dear," Howe breathed as he closed the space between the two, enjoying the flush that rose to the young woman's cheeks. "are the sole surviving blood heir to Highever."

The young woman took a step back, blinking, staring at the man. A sigh escaped her lips, and she bowed her head. Howe watched her for several moments take in the news before closing the gap between them once more. Pulling her into an embrace, he raised her chin with one hand. He could feel her tremble against him, and tightened his grip around her.

Bending down, he murmured, "I've missed you, Elissa," and then took her lips against his own, pressing a firm, warm kiss upon her. The young woman pushed him away, staring into his eyes. After a moment, she smiled softly, moving forward.

"I've missed you as well, my love," she answered before meeting his kiss with one of her own, passionate and demanding. Chuckling, Howe returned her kiss tenfold as he maneuvered her toward the massive four poster bed that dominated the room.


	40. Chapter 40

_To expect the unexpected shows a thoroughly modern intellect. ~Oscar Wilde _

_I love everyone's reaction to the Elissa/Howe pairing. Ahm…trust me, the thought of the two of them together kinda makes me cringe, but, the plot just got caught up in my little brain and would not let go._

_As always, thanks for the alerts, favs, and, most especially, the wonderful reviews! The reviews not only give me a giggle, but inspiration to continue. Thanks go out to: celtic-twinkie (for my favorite in review comment; I laughed when I read your first line!), mutive, Nithu, Biff McLaughlin, tgail73, Shakespira, Eriana10, CCBug, zevgirl_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 40_

Nelaros glared into the gloom, blood dripping from his arm, down his forearm, and to his fist. He risked a glance back to Loghain, who sported several wounds himself, but stood resolute and sure at his back. The human's pale eyes, too, scoured the foggy air, narrowing as he tried to focus his sight. With a sigh, the elf rubbed his hand, wiping away much of the blood to prevent his hand from slipping on his sword.

Loghain noticed the movement and moved forward, a tightly woven handkerchief in hand. "Take this," he instructed, handing the item over. Moving his sword to his shield hand, the elf took the cloth gratefully and wiped the blood fully from his hand. He rolled his shoulders slightly, unused to the heavy armor he now wore. Loghain stood, comfortable in the heavy plate Nelaros had found for him. The elf quelled a desire to shake his head. For some reason, the human still could not see weapons or armaments, or any other useful items, outside of his chambers.

"Do you see her?" the human asked as he turned his attention back to the gloom.

"No," the elf admitted, his own blue eyes narrowing into the darkness ahead. "But, I can hear her."

DA:O

In a few days - three at the most - they expected to be at Redcliffe. In the meantime, the pair had decided to walk a ways from the rest of their truncated group, to allow for some time alone before they regrouped with the others and resumed their quest.

They were alone, finally. Alistair reached over and gently took Adela's small hand in his own, leading her to the water's edge. Grinning up at the man, the elf laid out the blanket she carried, settling down to stare over the water.

The air had warmed substantially, the winter's snows almost completely melted away. The ground was almost soft, but still squishy with the snow's melt. Normally, Alistair would have enjoyed the sudden onslaught of Spring, however, the cause of this season's early melt had nothing to do with nature.

For above them, the skies whirled in dark grayness, angry clouds and lightening flashes that loomed night and day.

The Blight had come.

Blowing out a strained sigh, the young man settled beside his love, rubbing a hand down her arm before placing his arm about her shoulders. He smiled as she settled against him, her head resting just below his shoulder.

He knew that he should feel guilty, having found happiness and love during the worst of times in Fereldan's history, however, he could not and would not stifle the feeling that swelled in him.

With that thought, he bent his head down, taking Adela's soft lips with his own. The kiss started as searching at first, just soft lips and movement. Then the elven woman turned her slender body fully into his own, her hands rising up to entwine in his hair, moving down his neck. The kiss deepened, tongues tangling against each as the passion of the pair rose. Alistair pulled his love closer into his body, and she gasped as she felt his arousal through the fabric of his trousers. Alistair released her, and she looked into his eyes, rich amber now darkened to deep brown. She watched as he swallowed thickly.

"Adela," he started, his voice husky as he brought his lips back to hers.

She gasped as a warm feeling rose in her abdomen, rushing downwards in a fall of heat. She pressed herself more firmly against him, against his arousal, her tongue seeking deeper into his mouth.

Finally, they pulled away from each other, breathing heavy, eyes dilated and dark. Raising a hand, Alistair brushed it against her cheek, watching as her flushed skin deepened, feeling the heat of her flesh against his. "Adela," he repeated, moving closer, gazing down at her. "I want you," he murmured, "Maker knows I need you. But, if this is too fast for you…" he broke off as the elven woman in his arms practically leaped up, pressing her mouth, her body into his, rubbing against him in a manner that left no question in his mind that she wanted him as much as he did her.

But, still, he found himself pulling away from her yet again, his eyes searching her face, his breathing ragged, his face flushed and eyes dark.

Adela whined as Alistair stopped, lifting her face to his, her chest heaving. His eyes stared into hers intently, noting how dark and luminous her eyes had gotten. "Adela," he whispered, kissing her on her cheeks, then her mouth. "I don't want to…to bed you like you were some common trollop."

Adela's eyes took on an amused expression, and she smiled coyly up at him, her voice breathless. "Oh, really? I had never really thought of myself as common."

Grinning at her, hugging her tighter, Alistair breathed in the scent of her hair. "I love you, Adela." He pulled away so that he could watch her face. "I have loved you from the first moment I saw you. When you handed me that package of crumbly cheese…" his grin widened. "I knew I found the one woman who would completely understand me."

Her head tilted to the side, a curious expression upon her lovely face, Adela asked, "So, what are you trying to tell me, Alistair."

He swallowed thickly. "I…well," now he was nervous. Here they were, enjoying the feeling of each other's bodies, possibly even considering doing more than simple kissing and petting, and now he was nervous? He cleared his throat, coughing a bit. Adela's blond brow rose slightly. The look in her eyes was one of profound love, interest and trust. She trusted him to care for her, to not merely use her. She trusted him to follow her orders, question them when he felt necessary, but to always do what she thought was best. In her position as Commander. Other than that, as a woman, she trusted him. He felt slightly light headed at that thought.

"Marry me," he blurted out past a throat quickly constricting, feeling the heat rise in his face.

She blinked, licking her bottom lip, her face flushing prettily. He repeated the request. "Marry me."

"Are you certain, Alistair?" she whispered, almost as though she was afraid of the question, as if she hadn't quite heard it properly or understood it.

Smiling like an idiot, Alistair nodded his head. "I love you, Adela. I can think of no one else I would rather spend my life with." He moved away then, setting her up as he slid to one knee beside her. He saw her blush deepen and felt giddy that he was the cause of it. He reached into the pocket at his breast, pulling forth a small pouch. He handed it to her, and repeated his request. "Marry me."

Almost hesitantly, the elf took the pouch, looking up into Alistair's warm eyes. A soft smile crossed her lips as she opened the pouch to reveal a lovely little band of gold, upon which was set a small chip of sapphire. She gasped at it, pulling it free of the pouch's folds.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, turning the band over in her fingers.

Alistair's warm fingers plucked it from her hands. "I saw this at that little jeweler stand back at Denerim," he said with a smile, staring at the ring in his hand. "and immediately was reminded of your eyes," he said as he took her left hand, sliding the ring onto her ring finger. Placing a finger under her chin, he raised her face to his.

"You have carried this ring since Denerim?" Adela asked, breathless, her eyes still upon the pretty ring her love held.

Alistair chuckled, nodding his red-gold head. Taking a breath, clearing his throat, he said. "Adela Tabris," he smiled at her astonished and gentle expression, "I know that we have not known each other for long, a mere few months. But, I know how I feel about you; I know how I will feel about you ten, twenty, thirty years from now." He lifted her hand and pressed his lips against the back of it. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

She glanced at the ring now adorning her finger, and then looked back up into the face of the man she loved. It was true: they had only known each other a few scant months. And it had only been recently that she realized how strongly she felt for this wonderfully silly man. But, in the grand scheme, when she considered how little time either of them had before them, considered how much they had accomplished in those few short months, those months could seem an entire lifetime. She bit her lower lip, a beauteous smile crossed her lips, and she nodded. "Yes."

A groan of happiness escaped his lips as he clasped her against his chest, kissing her hair as he laughed with happiness. Adela giggled against the muscles of his chest, and he pulled her back to cover her mouth with his.

DA:O

The demon undulated before them, her hands roaming her body. She purred at Nelaros. "Come now," she cooed, "I can make your final moments pleasurable." She sidled closer, paying the naked blade in his hand little attention. "I can even give you the moments with _her _that you had so rightfully deserved."

The elf's blue eyes narrowed with hatred. "Do not think to sully her as such!" he snarled, raising the blade threateningly. He took note of Loghain's shifting movements behind him.

"Tsk, tsk," she scolded playfully, her red eyes sweeping over to Loghain, who glared at her with undisguised hatred. A cruel smile crossed her inhuman face as she floated closer to the human.

"It is so very interesting," she remarked, almost as an aside. "How differently the same woman can be seen by others." She grinned over at Nelaros. "You see her as bright and sunny, warm and everything you could imagine in a life's mate. A partner." That grin curved down into a frown, mocking, as she shook her flaming head at the elf. "Such a pedestrian view. But you," she turned to Loghain, her scolding tones softening. That mocking frown changed. A conniving smirk rose to her lips, and her eyes narrowed. "You see her as…" the smirk widened to a smile that took half her face with it. "Interesting, human. You see her as…"

"Enough!" Loghain shouted, his own blade and shield raised. "We shall hear no more of your tricks and lies, demon!"

Nelaros imitated the human's moves, anger and annoyance at Loghain raising in his chest. He wanted to know how the human lord saw _his _intended, but he had no desire to ask it of either him or the demon.

DA:O

"So, I see that Lady Cousland has returned to the fold," Arawn remarked as he scanned over the paperwork scattered across his desk. Technically, it was Loghain's desk, but as the Teyrn was currently…indisposed, the maleficar had decided he would look after the man's work.

Sniggering, Rendon Howe, looking thoroughly sated and as relaxed as the mage had ever seen his co-conspirator, settled into a large chair across from the ornate desk. "Indeed she has," he crooned, a smirk upon his craggy features. Arawn merely rolled his eyes and continued with his work.

The pair of men sat in silence for about an hour, Howe content to scan over some of the paperwork the mage had passed his way, Arawn signing Loghain's name to some orders regarding the Bannorn and troops.

Now the mage paused as his eyes scanned a document, its broken seal that of the Tevinter Magister. He consciously fought against the scowl that threatened to cross his face, managing to maintain an impassive appearance. The missive was simple: the mages were requesting more access to the Alienage. A sigh did escape his lips, and he glanced over, noticing Howe was still intent upon one missive from Bann Coerlic.

Settling back slightly, the mage watched the other man for a moment. As a blood mage, many would assume he the mastermind behind the Tevinter incursion into the Alienage. However, after his…tenure at the Circle Tower, he found slavery to be rather distasteful, and he doubted he would have considered the possibilities behind such a plan. There were many things the maleficar had no second thoughts in doing, however slavery was one of those issues he avoided.

It was Howe who had come devised the plan, inviting the Tevinters in to help raise funds for the armies. It was a brilliant plan, playing off well to the unrest of the Alienage since before Ostagar. The elves who had killed most of the guard in the manor had, unknowingly, assisted in his own plans for the throne.

That one of those same elves was now being used to help contain Loghain in his Fade prison made the plan even more delicious.

Smirking, the mage went back to his work, ordering more troops into the Bannorn to put down more uprisings.

DA:O

Roland ran his hands through his newly cut red hair. Since his captivity at Highever Castle, his hair had been longer than it had ever been. At first, he had been reluctant to cut it, as a tribute to those who had perished at the hands of Howe and his men. However, he felt the need for some normalcy, and so had one of the Arlessa's maids cut it back from the long braid he had taken to wearing it in to just below his chin.

Normalcy. He grimaced at the thought as he turned his attention to the battlements of Redcliffe Castle. What an odd term during the Blight. His eyes wandered upwards, staring at the gray and black clouds, the Blight darkened sky. It was only noon, and the sky was darkened enough in reminisce of twilight. He frowned.

His time, along with the other companions, had been spent in meditation, practice and rest. However, the winter months had made him and the others more restless than restful. Even Artemis, a mage more used to time spent in the unchanging environment that was the Tower found himself growing more resentful of the wasted time.

The elven mage now walked up to the former knight, his long fingered hands gripping the stone of the battlements low wall. He stared with wide eyes at the Blighted skies, and then turned fully the human man.

"I want to join the Grey Wardens," he blurted out, none of his usual lightheartedness in his manner. He stood straight, serious, no hint of his perpetual smirk upon his fine features.

Blinking, Roland turned to the other man. "Are you certain?" he found himself asking, frowning slightly at the question. The elf nodded, turning his attention back to the skies.

"You need every Warden you can get," the elf said, his soft voice firm. Roland was surprised by the change in the elf's demeanor. During the months they had spent together, Roland had found the younger man to be flirty, mischievous, and totally devoid of any serious quality. The former knight had even gotten used to the elf's flirtatious nature toward him, actually laughing of many of the innuendo the elf purred in his direction. This change in his behavior told the young man just how sincere the elf was in joining the ranks of the Wardens.

So, he found himself nodding, saying, "Once Adela and Alistair return," _and they will_, he added to himself, "we shall speak to them about the joining."

Artemis nodded his fair head, turning back to the battlement wall, his hands clasped before him.

And both pair of eyes watched as the Blight clouds roiled and sparked overhead.

DA:A

The Pride Demon stumbled back, a wide gash in her upper arm from where Nelaros' blade cut deep. She attempted to cast a spell freezing the upstart elf, but had to duck away, twisting, from Loghain's blade and shield. Snarling, she up righted, raising her hands, a blast of icy cold enveloping the elven warrior. The chill permeated Nelaros to his core, and he could feel his life draining away. He could only watch as Loghain's shield bashed into the back of the female demon, knocking her to the ground with a shout.

Warmth returned to his extremities, and Nelaros flexed his fingers around the hilt of his borrowed longsword. The demon had regained her feet far quicker than either man would have liked, and she now stood, snarling at the pair. Unsteady on his feet, the elven warrior swayed slightly, grimacing at the pinpricks danced along his feet and shins. His fingers tingled unpleasantly, but he raised his sword and shield, determination filling his heart to destroy this abomination.

Loghain had the same idea, and he let out a great war cry, "For Fereldan!" and launched himself at the evil entity that tormented them.

Sword slashed out, and the demon tilted her upper body away, barely avoiding serious damage. With a hiss, she rose, her feet several inches from the ground as she waved her arms to let loose a spell. An icy fog settled over Loghain, but he managed to shrug it off and carry through with his strike. His sword flashed, dripping blood as it dug a furrow across the demon's near naked chest. The silvery shield was bashed forward, striking her fully in the face. Bone and cartilage crunched as her nose broke and bent, and with a shriek, she stumbled away from the awful human and his blood weapon.

The elf, smaller and more nimble than the human, danced behind the demon, his own sword swiping outwards, cutting a gash across her shoulder blades. Black ichor oozed from the wounds, and she lurched forward, falling to the ground before the elf's shield could increase the damage done.

With a screech of rage, the demon rose to her feet, and, with a dramatic wave of her hands, vanished from sight.

Breathing hard, gasping for air, both men stared at the empty space, confusion alight in their eyes. After taking a deep, steadying breath, Nelaros turned to face Loghain. The human stared at the space for a moment longer before returning the elf's look.

Apparently, the demon had not been ready to admit defeat. With a shrug, Loghain led the elf back to his chambers, hoping for some time for them both to recuperate from their battle.


	41. Chapter 41

_I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season. Sorry for the slow updating; the holidays took quite a bit of my time._

_Thank you all so very much for how well this story is being received! Arsinoe de Blassenville, CCBug, tgail73, Shakespira, celtic-twinkie, Biff McLaughlin_

_I cannot believe that this story has reached over 200 reviews! Woot!_

_CCBug & Isabella Monroe had a neat idea that I want to continue with my story. When _

_their stories reached 100 reviews, the reviewer of that review was mentioned in the story. Now, Isabella (A Girl in King Alistair's Court) made me (yup! Me!) a regular (and a romance for Anders…*swoon*). Since I had already past 100 by that point, I figured I'd do it at 200. So…thank you tgail73 for submitting the 200th__ review for this story._

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 41_

The young elven maid scanned the hallway, the tray in her hands heavy. She tilted her pretty red head, certain she had heard voices at the further end of the hall. Frowning, she turned back to the Arlessa's door, and gently knocked upon the hard wood of the door.

The soft voice of Lady Isolde allowed her entry, and Gail placed a delicate hand upon the handle, turning it slightly. She paused again, certain this time that her sharp elven hearing had, indeed, heard voices. They were getting louder. She realized then that the voices were not from the end of the hall, but rather echoing from the lower level. Concerned, she pushed into her lady's room, placing the tea tray upon the side table at the Arlessa's elbow.

"Are those voices I hear?" Lady Isolde asked as she turned fully to look at Gail. The young elf nodded her head, brushing a stray lock of red hair from her green eyes. Frowning slightly, the Arlessa rose to her feet, indicating that Gail should follow her as she swept from her chambers, seeking out the source of the voices. With a quick glance to the tray, the young elven maid hurried after her mistress.

DA:O

"What did she mean, about how you saw Adela?" Nelaros asked around a piece of the hard bread he was chewing. His eyes intense as he watched the human lift his head to face him.

A black brow rose, lips a hard line beneath his prominent nose. "She was trying to divide us, Nelaros," Loghain explained, frowning at the younger man.

"We are already divided, _human_," Nelaros scoffed, tossing the uneaten half of the bread upon his plate. "Race and circumstance divide us. And you are evading my question."

With a sigh, Loghain looked at the other man. "Do you truly think that this is the time to discuss this?"

The elf shrugged his broad shoulders. "Why not?" he asked, scowling. "We'll never see the light of day. That blood mage of yours plans for one or both of us to die here."

"Only for one of us," Loghain reminded the elf. Nelaros' features only darkened more at the words.

"Yes, I am to die for you," he spat, scowling down at the plate. "So why not let me die knowing how you see _my _intended?"

The Teyrn shook his head, his eyes fixed upon the irate features of the elven man beside him. "I knew her mother," he said quietly, his gaze shifting to the locked door of the Fade chamber that so resembled his back at the palace. "She was, perhaps, one of my closest friends, in many ways closer to me than even Maric. She was a remarkable warrior, someone I knew I could always trust. Unfortunately for her, she had learned the hard way that although she was completely trustworthy, those who held her trust were not always so."

"Adela…" the elf prompted, not truly interested in the human's history with Adaia.

"You wish to know how I see Adela?" Loghain snorted. "You need to know how I saw her mother." the man paused, his head bent, as he got lost within his thoughts, his memories.

Nelaros watched the human, and sudden understanding came to him. The anger he felt bled from him as he realized the truth. He didn't say a word of his suspicions, and watched as Loghain sat quietly for several moments. "Never mind," the elf stated, his face blank. "I do not need to know at this moment how you see her. However," the elf pointed a long finger at the other man. "If we do manage to escape from this prison, you and I will need to have a long discussion about _Adela_."

Pale blue eyes blinked, and Loghain's dark head rose, his gaze scrutinizing the perceptive young man. They sat there, staring at the other for some time. Then, with a nod, without another word, the pair went back to their meal, ears alert for any sound from the demon that pursued them.

DA:O

Adela had never been so glad to see a place as she was Castle Redcliffe. As their small group entered the outskirts of the fishing village, they had been inundated by villagers - those who had been present when they had liberated it from the walking undead, but many that the elf did not recognize. The villagers, however, recognized the woman they had declared their savior, and shouted the Maker's Blessings upon her. She had noticed that the Revered Mother of the Chantry came out to smile upon them and offer blessings as they walked by.

Feeling a little bemused, Adela glanced up at Alistair. She noticed that his eyes had settled upon the figure of the Revered Mother and raised a brow at that. She knew what he was thinking, and found herself smiling broadly up at him, stepping closer to nudge him with her shoulder.

As her eyes scanned the cobblestones that made the walkway of the bridge, she wondered how her friends were. She found herself missing them greatly: Leliana's song during the evenings, The Sten's steady presence, Roland's friendship…her thoughts paused upon the knight, and her smile turned downwards into a frown. She did not relish the conversation she would need to have with her friend.

The guards at the top of the wide steps drew to attention as the group approached. One of the knights stepped forward, making his way down the long stairs, to meet the companions. He lifted a hand to remove his helm, revealing the auburn head of Ser Perth. With a wide smile, he greeted the companions, bidding them to enter the castle. Almost gratefully, the entire group nodded their agreement and followed the knight into the castle.

Much had changed since they had last walked the halls of Castle Redcliffe. The most noticeable, of course, was the distinct lack of corpses and the smell of death and decay. Floors and walls had been scrubbed to a near shine, and the scent of baking bread and cloves permeated the air, helping to wash away the unpleasantness that had so been a part of the grand ancient manor just mere months prior.

The group past servants, guards and knights alike, almost every one of them paused to pay their respects with a nod or shouted greeting. Adela's eyes swept over the forms of each of the servants, but found she did not recognize any of them.

Leliana was the first of their missing companions to find them. With a cry and toss of her arms, Adela found herself enveloped in a tight embrace, the Orlesian hugging the smaller woman as she reached a hand out for Alistair, pulling him into their shared embrace. Laughing, the large man allowed himself to be drawn into the hug, blushing slightly when he felt the bard's soft lips touch lightly upon his cheek in welcome.

Almost abruptly, the pair were released as Leliana assaulted Zevran and Niall with a tight hug. The men returned her embrace, laughing and teasing. Then, the bard's blue eyes settled upon the quiet form of their Witch. Yellow eyes met blue, and, with a laugh, the bard embraced her beloved Witch, kissing her soundly upon the lips. Blushing and choking, Morrigan returned the embrace, only to remember herself and pull away - slightly - from the warmth of Leliana's body.

Laughing, shaking their heads, the group turned as the rest of their companions made their way down the stairs.

The Sten greeted them quietly, acknowledging their presence with his usual stoicism: a slight nod of his massive head. Hafter, not one for observing protocol, pushed past Roland's knees, leaping up upon his mistress, paws on her shoulders as the beast towered over the tiny woman, barking out his displeasure of her having been hurt and of his being sent from her side. Adela hugged the great war hound to her, petting his ears and murmuring promises to never part from his side again. Placated, the animal dropped to all fours, taking his place by her side as the elven woman was swept up into Roland's arms.

Adela returned Roland's embrace, for she was, indeed, pleased to see him. She felt him kiss her lightly on the cheek, murmuring how happy he was to see her about. He had pulled her tighter against his chest, and she could feel and hear the quickening of his heartbeat. As their embrace relaxed, Adela stepped back, still maintaining their clinch. Her blue eyes searched his face, taking in the shorter hair, and the relief that so clearly emanated from his green eyes. She reached up a slender hand and brushed it across one of Roland's cheeks.

"We'll need to speak later," she whispered to the knight, smiling up at him. Gazing down into her eyes, he merely nodded as she stepped away to be greeted by Wynne and Artemis.

DA:O

"Do you hear that?" the elf asked as he placed his ear against the hard wood of the door. Loghain straightened, his sword and shield ready as he nodded.

"She's not even attempting to use stealth," the General of Fereldan's armies remarked dryly, his eyes staring at the door as the elf rose to his feet.

"It's a game to her," Nelaros remarked. "She knows she can't lose, so she lets us pull the lead a bit, before she yanks it back to set the hook."

Smirking, Loghain looked over at the other man. "I take it you fish?"

Nodding, allowing the slightest of smiles to cross his face, the elf replied, "My father and I always took time to go to the coast and fish. It's a little different fishing the larger waters of the Waking Sea than the little puddles I'm certain you flatlanders like to pretend are real waters."

Chuckling at the other man's insolence, Loghain remarked, "I'll have you know, whenever I went fishing, more often than not it was in the waters of the Amaranthine Ocean."

"I thought you seldom went back to Gwaren?"

The smirk still firm upon his features, Loghain replied, "I never said I went fishing often."

Chuckling, the two men turned their attention back to the door. Their mirth was short lived as they heard the unmistakable laughter of the demon that hunted them. Glancing around, they came to the mutual decision that remaining in the small chambers would not benefit them against the magic wielding demon. With a final look at each other, they shifted their positions. Nelaros reached for the door knob, turning it quickly. Loghain leaped into the hall, his eyes shifting from ceiling to floor, seeking out their hunter.

Nelaros stepped behind Loghain, his eyes searching the gloom of the hall directly behind the human. The demons' chuckle could be heard again, however, neither could discern the direction due to a strange echoing in the corridor.

DA:O

Wynne embraced him in a motherly fashion, and Alistair found that he quite liked it. Since joining the wardens, he had gained a growing sense of what family was. Now, with Wynne he had a mother figure and soon, with Adela, a wife. With plenty of friends around him, he felt that his life could, finally, be full.

At the thought of the lovely elf, he raised his eyes, skimming over their happy, reunited group. He noticed that Leliana had maintained a hold upon Morrigan, one arm around the witch's slender shoulders, and that Morrigan did not appear put out at all. Zevran and Niall were talking with the pair, and he noticed Leliana's blue eyes twinkle with mirth. The Sten stood silently in the background, his strange lavender eyes scanning over the group, as always watchful for any danger, their stoic guardian.

Artemis stood nearby Adela, who was enfolded in a tight hug by Roland, Hafter close at her heels. Alistair watched as Roland's lips brushed across Adela's smooth cheek, and he had to fight against the rise of jealousy that so easily bloomed in his chest. Closing his eyes, he shook the feeling away, reminding himself that Adela was his, that she loved him, and that soon they would be wed. He opened his eyes to see Adela's small hand brush briefly across Roland's cheek as she bent forward slightly to whisper something to him before removing herself from his embrace. Taking a deep breath, Alistair moved from Wynne as Adela approached them, happily embracing the elder mage. Watching as the two women embraced, he hoped that Adela would speak with Roland soon.

DA:O

Despite the chuckle that escaped her full, purple lips, the demon was not amused. Not in the slightest. She had hoped for a worthy prey, one that would not succumb quickly to her might. That had been the deal she had garnered with the maleficar. A prey to amuse her, give her a few hours of pursuit, but who would, eventually, fall to her greater power.

Several days of pursuit, and still the rebellious elf had not realized that his sole purpose was to please her, and then feed her.

The fool stood shoulder to shoulder with the human. And he was not one she was allowed to sink her teeth into. Such a pity, really. Despite his being rather aged, he had a strength and stubbornness about him that could sustain her for many months, had she only been allowed to consume him. As it was, the elf would offer her a substantial meal. One that would last at least as long as the meal the human would provide.

She tired of the cat and mouse game. Actually, she had tired of it days ago. She was hungry, and if she did not move quickly now, she feared her meal would be lost. Lost to one of the more powerful demons that threatened the boundaries of her domain, eager for the feast they knew awaited within her borders.

Why could mortals never learn that, no matter how hard they fought, ultimately they would lose?

DA:O

Gail trailed behind Arlessa Isolde, following her down the staircase and into the main hallway. There, standing amidst more smiles than tears were all of the Grey Wardens and their companions. The elven maid watched as tension eased from Isolde's features. The noblewoman stepped forward, making her way through the crowd, to stand before the young human Gail remembered was Alistair.

Alistair paused, turning his gaze to the woman who had been the bane of his childhood, and whose child he had the misfortune of having to kill. Gail noticed that the elven Warden tensed slightly at the human's side, her small hand slipping into the human's massive paw. The Redcliffe elf frowned slightly at the gesture before remembering her place, her features smoothing out once again into the impassive mask of a servant.

Isolde stood, staring up into the face of the young warden. Her own features were devoid of emotion. What thoughts whirled in her mind none could tell from the passive expression that sat upon her once pretty face. The scaring from her eye had healed greatly, but the eye itself had not been saved. In its place sat a jeweled eye patch. Yet, the rest of the Arlessa's face was as pretty as it had ever been.

She surprised them all when she offered them a smile, placing an elegant hand upon Alistair's brawny arm.

"Wardens," she turned her gaze to Adela, her smile widening. "We are so very pleased that you have _all_," her eye shifted to Alistair with significant meaning as she gave his arm a slight squeeze, "returned to us safely."

Immediately the tension that had threatened the room eased, and everyone once again resumed their well wishes and greetings. Isolde had turned to the elven warden, taking the younger woman's hand in her own to squeeze it gently.

Gail relaxed, pleased that there would be no scene. Her backbone immediately stiffened, however, upon the entry of Arl Eamon.

DA:O

Nelaros watched as the desire demon circled him and his companion. His gem blue eyes narrowed slightly as she raised a hand. _Now_! He shouted in his mind at Loghain. As if on cue, the older warrior rushed forward, his sword raised, shield held before him, and his war cry tumbling from his lips.

"For Fereldan!"

The tactic had the desired effect. The demon was more interested in Nelaros, and had paid scant attention to the human. True enough, Loghain had been bent over double, as though he were in pain or exhausted. Simple tactic, but it had worked. The demon was now absorbed in defending herself against a very well rested and undamaged Loghain, who was furious enough to carve bits from her flesh.

Nelaros crept behind the demon, slightly amused that she no longer paid attention to him. After all, wasn't it he she was supposed to try and kill? A glance over at Loghain's furious face and sweeping sword assured the young elf that the demon, at least, had self preservation in mind as she defended herself against the man.

The elven warrior swept his blade out, cutting deeply into the hovering demon's side. She gave out a keening wail, swiping a clawed hand at him. He barely ducked from the main force of the blow, but felt her talons claw bloody trenches across his face. Grimacing at the pain, the elf stepped back, bringing his shield up as the demon turned to give the worrisome elf her full attention.

Loghain, trained and seasoned warrior that he was, took advantage of their foe's distraction, slamming his shield into her back, pushing her closer to the elf and his sword. Nelaros allowed a small grin to cross his bloody face as he drew his weapon back and then plunged it forward. The blade bit into the soft flesh of the demon's bare abdomen, and black, acidic blood spurted from the wound, covering the elf's sword hand. A cry of distress escaped Nelaros' lips as the blood made contact with his flesh, burning. Coughing slightly, shaking his hand, he refused to relinquish the position he had - a position of power against the demon. She was hurt - badly. He moved to pursue his advantage, but the demon moved quickly. Snarling, she backed away from both men, a long clawed hand clutching at the wound in her stomach.

"Fools!" she hissed, continuing her retreat. "I could have given you an easy death. Now, however…" she glanced behind her slightly and then turned, a malicious grin upon her full lips. "You shall have to deal with my pets."

As she spoke, four fiery figures emerged from the gloom behind her. She continued her retreat as her 'pets' advanced.

With a glance to each other, the two men braced themselves to face off against the fiery might of the rage demons.

DA:O

The merriment that had permeated the great hall quickly subsided as the Arl of Redcliffe stalked into the room. He barely glanced at those companions who had been his guests throughout the winter months. His gray eyes flickered, briefly, across the form of his wife. Those same eyes, hard and cold, settled upon the face of Alistair, barely registering the presence of the elven woman - the Warden Commander - who stood beside the young man.

A smile smeared upon his face, Eamon reached over with a hand, offering it to Alistair. As Alistair took the hand, the Arl spoke his first words, "Alistair, my boy!" he proceeded to clap the other hand to the younger man's shoulder. "We are so very pleased to see you alive and well!"

Sheepishly, glancing down at Adela, Alistair nodded his head. The gestures felt unnatural to the young warden, and he found himself shifting slightly out of the Arl's range. "Thank you, My Lord," the young man said respectfully, bowing his red-blond head slightly. "Trust me, we are all pleased to be alive and well."

"Indeed, Your Grace," Adela stepped forward slightly, "we very much appreciate the hospitality you offered to our companions while we found ourselves separated."

Those eyes settled upon the diminutive form of the elf. Alistair was certain he noticed a slight narrowing of those eyes, but then the expression turned decidedly friendly, so he thought perhaps he had imagined it.

"Commander," the Arl bowed his head slightly as a show of respect for her rank. "It is, indeed, my utmost pleasure to host you and your contingency. After all," he swept his arms out to encompass everyone in the hall, "had it not been for you and your companions, not only would I have died, but all of Redcliffe would have fallen to the undead spawn that invaded."

Alistair watched as Adela studied the Arl's face, then offer him a smile. "It was our pleasure, Your Grace."

"And now that you have all returned to us safely, I find that I have a matter that I must discuss," he turned to Alistair, "with Alistair here."

The young man in question frowned, and he glanced over his companions. He noted that Roland was watching them, concern clearly showing in his eyes. The two men's eyes met, and Roland gave a near imperceptible shake of his head, and Alistair recognized it as a warning. Turning his attention back to the Arl, he said, "I would be more than honored to discuss anything with you, My Lord. However," he stepped to the side, giving more space to Adela, making her more prominent in the foreground rather than background. "Anything you have to discuss with me should also be discussed with my Commander."

Now he was certain he saw a flicker of annoyance pass behind the Arl's eyes. He looked over at Roland again. Yes, the recruit was definitely trying to warn him of something with regards to whatever it was the Arl wanted to discuss with him.

Arl Eamon glanced at the elven woman, and back up at Alistair. With a sigh, he indicated the pair to leave the room and led them to his study.

DA:O

The odor of burning wood, flesh and hair rose, causing the two men to cough, turning their heads away from the smell. The demons, all four of them, moved languidly amongst the bodies of the dead that littered the floor along the passageways of the palace, setting clothing, hair and flesh alike aflame. His hand on Loghain's arm, Nelaros turned, scanning the area they had just passed through. The human paused, following the elf's gaze.

The section of the palace they led the demons through was deserted, save for the multitudes of bodies. It was also greatly damaged, with great hunks of the ceiling laying upon the floor, walls torn apart leaving gaping holes to the rooms beyond. Debris and rubble littered the floor, offering many areas for the desperate pair to hide behind.

Of course, Nelaros' idea was not merely to hide, but to ambush.

After a brief discussion, the two split, taking up positions behind fallen statues of armored heroes and ceiling debris. The demons made no attempt to hide their approach, their gyrating, column-like forms slinking amongst the refuse. Pulling out a crossbow he had acquired from one of the many corpses of soldiers, Nelaros pulled back the crank, setting the bolt in the cradle. Setting the weapon against his shoulder, he sighted in, waiting for the pursuers to enter his field of vision.

Behind his own fortress of rubble, Loghain mimicked the elf's actions, setting a similar crossbow and set in to wait.

DA:O

Arl Eamon was a gracious host, and so made certain that both wardens were comfortable almost immediately. He offered each a glass of brandy or wine, each of which were declined. As the Arl poured himself a snifter, Bann Teagan entered the room. The two wardens exchanged surprised glances, and the Bann himself seemed a bit bemused by the company.

"Good, Teagan, I'm glad you are here," the Arl turned to face his brother, giving him a slight nod of his head as his younger brother settled himself in a chair next to Adela. "Now we can plan a strategy against Loghain."

Adela glanced over at Alistair, who sat, remarkably impassively, staring at the man who had promised his father he would care of him. She could not tell for certain, but she thought she noticed a momentary twitch of Alistair's lips.

"What strategy, brother?" Teagan asked, confusion in his tone of voice as he rose to pour himself a glass of wine.

"We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne," Eamon remarked, his eyes settling upon Alistair's paling features. "Someone with blood ties to the ruling family."

The Bann almost dropped the carafe of wine as he turned to Eamon. "Surely you cannot mean Alistair?"

"Who else?" Eamon remarked, ignoring the incredulous look Adela cast him. Alistair, meanwhile, sat, dumbfounded, wondering if this was the reason for Roland's warning glances.

"Fereldan already has a ruler upon the throne," Adela found her voice and rose to her feet. "If you will recall, Your Grace, upon her marriage to Cailan, Anora was appointed as Queen." The elf took a slight step forward. "Not Queen-Consort, but Queen. It was part of the marriage contract Loghain and Maric worked up."

A gray brow twitched. "You seem to know quite a lot about such things, Commander."

Frowning, she replied, "You mean for an elf," it was not a question. "Arl Eamon, you are quite aware of my friendship with Cailan and Anora. It was never a secret. And, yes, I do happen to know quite a bit." _More than you know_, she thought angrily, still quite upset that Eamon had tried to convince Cailan to set Anora aside. She remained silent on that point, however. It had nothing to do with their current discussion.

Eamon stared down at the smaller woman for several seconds, as though trying to get a sense of her strengths and weaknesses. "Do you really think that people will continue to allow Anora to sit upon the throne? After what her father did at Ostagar?" He finally demanded.

A blond brow twitched slightly. "Begging your pardon, Your Grace," Adela said in respectful tones. "But, you have been ill since before Ostagar. No one truly knows what happened there." She prayed Alistair would remain silent at this point. She was pleasantly surprised when he did. "We were at the battle, and still do not know, precisely what happened…"

"There are rumors…" Eamon began but Adela cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand.

"There are rumors, indeed. Many pegging the Wardens as having betrayed Cailan and Fereldan to the darkspawn." her frown deepened and she actually scoffed. "Do you believe those as well? Or only those that would better suit your designs to the throne?"

Teagan bit back a startled cough and Alistair rose to his feet, standing close to Adela. Eamon took in the young man's stance, how close he stood to the elf. His eyes narrowed. "Alistair has a responsibility…"

"As did you, Your Grace," Adela cut in again, heedless of station. "Yet while you failed spectacularly at that, Alistair, however, has never faltered in his."

Silence hung heavy in the air. Adela had not meant for her anger to get the better of her, but she found it difficult to stay her tongue.

"The decision is Alistair's, young lady," Eamon replied in a condescending voice.

"That is true," Alistair spoke up. "It is my decision." He looked Eamon fully in the face. "I have no desire to become King. I am a Grey Warden. And, as such, cannot hold titles. My responsibilities are to eradicate darkspawn and stop Blights." The young warden smirked, shrugging his shoulders slightly at the astonished expression that crossed Eamon's face. "I think that I'm doing a pretty good job of that."

His face reddening, Eamon snarled out, "It's because of this _elf _that you deny your proper rank!"

"Eamon!" Teagan exclaimed, slamming his glass down as he took a step to his brother. "That _elf_, as you so named her, saved your life. She saved Isolde's life and the village!"

"But not Connor's!" Eamon shouted, anger taking firm hold of him as he rounded on his sibling.

Silence reigned, and Teagan shook his head. Adela reached over and gently patted Alistair's arm, letting him know that she was there for him.

"There were many who perished, Eamon," Teagan's voice was lower, softer, conciliatory. "The Wardens did everything they could to save Connor."

Taking a deep breath, Eamon hung his head. "I apologize," he murmured. "I know that you and your companions did all you could. I…my grief," he raised his head to look at the young elven woman. "sometimes gets the better of me."

Casting Teagan a thankful look, Adela stepped forward. "It is understandable, Your Grace. If there could have been anything we could have done differently, we would have."

Eamon's gray eyes settled upon Adela's blues, searching. Finally, he nodded. "I know. My brother," he waved a hand in Teagan's direction. "and knights have all told me of the lengths you and your companions went to save the village, to try and save Connor. It was not your fault." He bowed his head slightly. "That mage…"

"Brother," Teagan put in, stepping forward, though apparently still cautious of his brother's sudden volatile nature. "There are many factors in 'guilt' for what happened to the village and here."

The Arl merely nodded his head. "We still have Loghain to attend to." He said as he raised his head, his eyes searching the faces of each of the wardens.

"And we will," Adela assured the man. "However, we have matters regarding ending the Blight to see to."

"Without any more nonsense about my being king," Alistair added vehemently, glaring at the Arl.

"Alistair…" Eamon began, but this time it was Alistair who cut him off.

"No, My Lord. There is no discussion. I am not going to be king. I am a Grey Warden." There was a sudden twinkle in his eye. "And, you are correct. This woman is very dear to me. As a matter of fact, she has agreed to be my wife." He actually smirked at the annoyed expression that crossed Eamon's face. Adela was rather surprised by the delight the other warden was taking in baiting the older man. A glance over at Teagan told her that he, at least, was neither surprised nor dismayed by the news.

Eamon opened his mouth to speak again, but Alistair had finally seemed to have enough of it. "_That _is not up for discussion either, Your Grace." And, with those words, Alistair clasped Adela's smaller hand into his own, and led her from the room.


	42. Chapter 42

_Thanks so much for the reviews from the previous chapter! And the oncoming alerts! Yay! Everyone is so concerned about Roland, it's rather touching. I'm also pleased by everyone's reaction to the dynamics between Loghain and Nelaros. _

_So, my thanks for their reviews (Oh! And you really, really should check out their stories, too!): Arsinoe de Blassenville, tgail73, CCBug, mutive, Nithu, Shakespira, Biff McLaughlin, zevgirl, Eriana10_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 42_

Adela stood facing the door, her hands twisting in front of her. How long she stood, staring at the offending wood she couldn't tell. She had left Alistair and the others downstairs in the kitchen, enjoying a rough meal of cold meat and cheese, but had noticed that Roland had not been present. So, with a final glance at Alistair, who nodded encouragingly at her, she left the party and searched out the former knight's room.

Nervousness and anxiety nearly stifled her breathing, and she paused, taking a deep breath. She had been dreading this conversation, but felt it needed to be done sooner rather than later. She could not bear the thought of her friend continuing to hope for something that could not be.

Bracing herself, she raised a small fist to knock at the door. As her hand neared the wood, the door opened, revealing the red haired man staring down at her with his green eyes as he grasped hold of her descending hand.

DA:O

A _click _and _twang _and the bolt shot through the air, pinning into the fluidity of the demon's undulating body. Nelaros allowed himself a moment's satisfaction at the scream the fiery demon let out as he set another bolt. That smile widened as Loghain's own missile dug deeply into the same demon, burying itself into a glowing spot the elf could only guess was an eye.

Taunting voices rose from the other rage demons as their fellow twisted in its agony as Nelaros' second bolt slammed into its head.

The first of the demons fell easily to the onslaught of bolts. Groaning, its fiery form merely melted away, dissipating into the floor below it. The trio left slid past the burned spot on the marble floor, their arms twisting, their bodies swaying as they advanced upon the pair.

Abandoning his crossbow, Nelaros, who had been the closest to the demons, rose, his shield held before him, just at his face, his sword raised. Loghain let loose his last bolt, pinning it into the demon closest the elf, and he, too rose, his shield and sword held at the ready as he surveyed their foes.

A dark chuckle rose from the throats of the remaining demons as they raised their burning limbs, readying to strike out at the elf that stood before them.

With a roar, the forefront demon shot towards the elf, the bolt from Loghain's crossbow sticking out of its chest, dancing crazily with each motion the fiend made. Prepared, Nelaros braced his feet, raising his shield slightly higher, bashing it forward with all of his strength as the demon neared. Stunned, the Fade creature stumbled backwards, shaking its large head, snarling at the elf. It raised its hands as Nelaros in turn raised his blade, swinging it forward in a wide arc. The keen edge of the blade sliced through the demon's hands, dropping them, wetly, to the ground.

Its keening shriek filled the corridor as acidic blood poured to the floor, burning through the marble. Carefully sidestepping, the blond elf swung out with his blade again, smashing his shield forward at the same time. The sturdy metal and wood of the shield connected solidly with the full front of the demon as the blade jabbed forward and into the creature's chest. The elf quickly pulled his blade free, mindful of the damage that could be caused should the demon's blood make contact with his flesh. Giving his shield a shove, he pushed the shrieking demon back, causing it to stumble down and onto its back. The heat from its body scorched Nelaros' hand and he took a slight step back. Then, with a cry, Nelaros leaped forward, driving his blade to the hilt into the demon's head, twisting it savagely until the creature ceased its struggles.

DA:O

"Adela?" Roland queried, holding her hand as she stumbled slightly from the momentum of her movement to knock upon the door. His green eyes settled upon her face, noting the tense expression that was fixed thereupon.

"Roland," Adela greeted, her voice small. "Can we talk?"

With a nod, he stepped aside, releasing the elven woman's hand as she stepped past him and into his room. With a quick glance down the hall, the man stepped into the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

He turned to see Adela's back turned to him. He did notice, however, the twitching of her shoulders and knew that she was wringing her hands before her in a very familiar gesture of nervousness. Although he could not see her face, he was absolutely certain she was mauling her lower lip.

A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. If he was reading the expressive elf correctly, he knew he was not going to like what she had to say to him. And, based upon their history, it could only mean one of two things.

And he was fairly certain she was not going to deny him admittance into the order of Grey Wardens.

"Adela."

The elven woman, hearing her name, turned to face the man. He sighed softly as he noted that she was, indeed, savagely worrying her lip. Smiling gently, he stepped forward, brushing a thumb across the bottom of her mouth. Her small, pearly teeth released the flesh of her lip while her hands continued to twist before her. Once again sighing, he clasped both of her hands in his much larger ones, stilling their motions. "I take it you're not this worked up over telling me you don't want me to join the wardens?" Roland asked gently.

"Wha-what?" Adela stammered, unprepared for Roland's choice in topic. Catching herself, she shook her head. "No, no…that's not it. Not that I'm happy about the prospect…"

A red brow twitched, and the smile softened. "You don't want me in the Wardens?" he asked carefully, his green eyes intense upon her face.

She sighed, her entire body moving with the gesture. "It's not that, Roland," she said softly, glancing down to where their hands remained joined. "I think that you will make an excellent Warden. It's just…not something I would choose for those I…I care about."

"So you care about me?" he prodded gently.

Nodding, she looked back up. "Of course I do. I consider you a good and true friend."

"But friend only?"

Adela twisted her hands so that now they clasped Roland's. "I'm sorry," she said softly, gazing into his eyes. He did not miss the pleading look in those blue depths.

Nodding, taking a deep breath, Roland responded, "I should have guessed he would, indeed, win your heart once I had left you in Haven."

Brows knotted together, Adela shook her head vigorously. "No, no, Roland." The grip upon his hands tightened. "Alistair did not pursue me…He had every intention of keeping his promise to you…"

Realizing he had spoken his thoughts, the young man shook his head, smiling down at the distraught elven woman. "Adela, I know Alistair is a man of his word. I merely meant that once I was out of the picture, you would clearly see who held your heart." He took a deep breath, his eyes closing momentarily. "Alistair is, indeed, the most fortunate of men."

"I'm sorry," Adela said again, her grip on his hands tightening.

"Why?" He asked, turning their hands so that he could see her palms. "Alistair is a fine man. If I am to lose the woman I love to anyone, I'd rather it be to a man as good and brave as he." He smirked into her face. "Of course, I'd rather have…" His voice trailed off, and he left the thought unsaid. _I would rather have been the one for you_.

They stood there, silent, for many moments, with Roland continuing to hold her hands, rubbing his thumbs along her palms. He could feel the tension ease from her hands, and her stiff arms relaxed. "I want to know that this is definitely what you want," he broke the silence, his eyes still upon her hands. He could feel her eyes upon him and, with a sigh, he looked into her face.

"It is," she whispered, her eyes clear, the tension gone from her face. "I love him."

Nodding, he took a breath. In one graceful movement, the former knight knelt to one knee, her hands still held in his. He heard her quick intake of breath and felt her try to remove her hands from his grasp. It was a gentle tug, and one he choose to ignore at this moment. Lifting his face to look fully into her eyes, he said, "Know this, Adela Tabris, that ever shall I be your humble servant," he smiled as she shook her head. "I will remain by your side, always, until death or duty takes me elsewhere." He placed one fist over his heart, bowing his head. "This I swear."

"Roland, don't…" she pleaded, pulling on her hands again. "That's not…"

"It is," he said as he rose to his feet, his eyes still on her somber face, making her eyes follow his movements. "I want you to take care, Adela. I have no doubt of Alistair's love for you. However, the Arl has plans…"

"To make Alistair king," she finished for him, nodding at the surprised look upon Roland's face. "That was what he had to discuss with Alistair upon our arrival. Alistair, however, was very adamant he not take the throne, and that he was a Grey Warden first and foremost." Her eyes raised, not really looking at anything. "Alistair would never do anything to hurt me, Roland." Her gaze found his. "You know that, don't you?"

"I know that he would never _intentionally _harm you. However, be wary of the Arl. I do not trust _his _motivations." The young man felt his own tension ease slightly, but not fully. He still had a concern regarding Adela's relationship with Alistair, but could not find a voice for it. "I will always be there for you, Adela," he reiterated, his face calm and set, and he hoped she could hear the sincerity in his voice.

The young elf stared up into the knight's face for several moments, her eyes searching his face. He had no idea what she was looking for, but she seemed content when a smile graced her lips and she nodded. "Thank you, Roland. For your friendship, most of all."

"Always," he said again, seriously. They stood thusly for another moment, and then Roland asked. He took a deep, steadying breath. "So, when is the wedding?" He was trying for levity, something that he didn't feel, but he did not like the tension he felt between the two of them.

Her eyes widened and a slight blush dusted her cheeks. "How…?"

"Alistair is a gentleman," Roland replied evenly, maintaining a calm hold upon his emotions. He released Adela's hands but remained in front of her. "With these uncertain times, never knowing what we may face down the road, it would only be right that he would want to wed you." A wistful look crossed his face briefly as he admitted. "You deserve no less."

Her eyes still searching, she replied, "We plan to wed before we leave Redcliffe."

His heart plummeted like a rock through air, but he forced himself to nod. "Had it been me, I would have done the same." he had not meant to say the words, but found them tumbling out before he could curb them.

"Roland…" Adela whispered as she placed a small hand upon his arm, squeezing it gently.

"I meant what I said, Adela," Roland said, bending slightly to kiss her cheek. "I will always be there for you." He pinned her with his gaze. "Always."

She nodded, seeming to realize that there was no arguing with the man. "We should join the others downstairs," she suggested, her hand still upon his arm.

Smiling down at her hand, blinking, he moved to grip it with his other, and moved toward the door. He would not allow his disappointment to hurt his friendship with either Adela or Alistair. He was to be a Grey Warden, and they had a great evil to face down. Mustering himself, he replied as he pulled the door open. "Indeed we should."

DA:O

Blade dripping black ichor, Loghain advanced upon the wounded demon as it glided backwards, seeking escape from the human warrior. His face set in a grim mask of destruction, the skilled warrior stepped easily over the debris and refuse to get to his prey.

Behind him, the human could hear the sounds of battle as his companion fought off the other demons. Loghain knew he had to make quick work of this foe and get to his comrade's side. His sword slashed out, followed quickly by a sweep of his shield, the edge of the bulwark slicing across the midsection of the fiery fiend. A thin, fiery appendage lashed outwards, grasping the shield as it made its path before it. Loghain's momentum came to a jolting halt as the stronger demon yanked on the shield, trying to pull the human off balance. A scowl crossed the Teyrn's face, and, bracing his feet to prevent his continued momentum forward he released the shield, causing the demon to stumble back from its own assault. With a shout, the human combatant sent his blade sweeping out in a low arc, slicing through the midsection, causing acidic black blood to erupt from the gaping wound. With a snarl, the demon negligently tossed the metal shield to the side as it launched itself at its foe.

Backpedaling, Loghain stepped back and to the side, slightly behind a toppled statue, his blade held perpendicular to his body, much as a shield. He cursed the loss of his shield, but would rather have lost it and still remain standing than find himself in the burning embrace of one of those creatures.

The demon followed the human's movements, snarling out its outrage and pain, while still offering a taunt in its dark, whispering voice. But Loghain had been taunted by the very vilest that humanity could offer. Orlesian Chevaliers had a knack for making one feel inferior. The taunts offered up by the demons - taunts of pettiness and inferiority - meant little coming from inhuman monsters when having faced those who raped, murdered and pillaged others simply for being born a different nationality, race or class. Loghain briefly wondered if his elven companion felt the same with regards to humans as he did for Orlesians.

The columnar body of the demon rose upwards to its full height, easily overmatching the human in stature. Arm-like appendages stretched out overhead, and the creature brought its upper body up and curved, looming over the smaller human as he stood behind the statue. The wounds across its midsection continued to spout the bloody ichor, dripping to the marble floor, hissing at contact. Loghain looked up, his blade rising as he matched snarl for snarl with his foe. As the demon rushed downwards in a heavy descent, Loghain danced to the side, away from the statue, his blade jabbing upwards, slicing deeply into what he could only assume was its neck. As the blade pushed through the fiery flesh, the creature gurgled out a protest, its arms sweeping down to try and capture the human in its smoldering clinch. Loghain had other ideas, and yanked his embedded blade to the side, slicing through the flesh and bone (he was momentarily amazed that the creature had bones). As the creature moved downward, its own impetus caused the wound to open further, giving the blade its direction. Weakness overtook the creature, and it flopped, twitching and convulsing, to the floor, its head nearly severed from the rest of its body. A roar of agony followed by gurgling sounds told the Teyrn that Nelaros had vanquished one of his opponents. With a push, Loghain launched himself away from the body as it dissolved into the floor, seeking out his shield.

DA:O

Their group stood around the table in the kitchen area, catching up and simply enjoying being with each other once again. Alistair's eyes continued to wander to the doorway leading out of the pantry, wondering how Adela's conversation with Roland was going. He knew that she had been dreading speaking with the other man for some time, her heart too soft to want to cause any harm to someone she cared about. That caused a slight jolt of jealousy to course through him, and he physically shook it free, relaxing as he felt its grip upon him loosen and vanish.

Arl Eamon had, of course, not joined in the group's revelry. The Arl had made himself scarce since his and Alistair's confrontation in the study upon their arrival. The young warden actually felt pretty good about standing up the Arl. He had not liked the way he had spoken to Adela, calling her an 'elf' as though that was the worst thing in the world to be. And then to stand there demanding that Alistair's duty as Maric's son required he take the throne? After a lifetime of being told he was nothing? That he had no claim to the Theirin name? And had spent his entire life neglected by said father? The young man shook his head. He had never been happier before he became a Grey Warden. Finding Adela and earning her love had only filled a hole in his heart he had never truly acknowledged was there. Why in all of Thedas would he give that up for something that he had no aspiration for?

He looked up to see Wynne and Isolde in conversation, the young red haired elven maid standing silently beside the Arlessa, her clear green eyes surveying the activity around her, but not joining in. During his brief return to Redcliffe, Alistair had noted the change in the woman who had made his childhood miserable. She had been welcoming, friendly, and, in her glances to him and warm greeting, had let him know that she had forgiven his part in Connor's death. He watched as the two women talked, their heads together, white head bent near the strawberry blond. He knew, beyond doubt, that the elder mage had a great hand in the Lady Isolde's change of heart.

His eyes continued their course around the room. Morrigan and Leliana sat together by the table, their own heads bent near, and he watched as Leliana's hand swept upward, brushing a stray lock of Morrigan's raven black hair from her eyes. He was slightly amused that the witch did not grimace or scowl at the affectionate gesture, but merely continued with that bemused look that now seemed glued to her features since she and the Orlesian bard had been reunited.

Nearby the women stood Zevran, his arm tossed lazily across Niall's shoulders, listening to something Artemis was saying. Knowing the elven mage, he was certain it was something outrageous, especially given the flush that crossed the human mage's face and the wide, lascivious grin that crossed the elven Crow's.

His eyes settled upon the Sten's massive form, standing, as always, in the background, watching everything. The sentinel of the group, always making certain that those he traveled with would be safe and secure, even when they themselves were hardly paying attention to their surroundings. Alistair found he had missed the Qunari's stolid presence.

Actually, he thought as his gaze swept to the doorway, watching as Adela and Roland entered, the knight holding her smaller hand in a loose grip, he found he had missed every one of their companions, and was greatly pleased to be reunited with this group. A group he had come to consider more family than any blood ties could ever have forged. Smiling to himself, he pushed himself from his perch on the table and walked over to the newcomers.

DA:O

Nelaros backed away, stumbling slightly over the debris strewn across the floor. He had managed to dispatch one of the demons with little effort, but he now found himself tiring. He held his sword with tip slightly downward, and he berated himself the stance, forcing the tip up, threatening the pursuing fiend. The amorphous lava-like body flowed around the refuse, barking out its taunts as it slashed out at the retreating elf.

A shadow moved beside him, and he had no need to glance over to know that Loghain now stood shoulder to shoulder with him against their final foe. He heard the older man shout out his great war cry, the one he had been told the man had used during the rebellion against the Orlesians. Always 'For Fereldan', regardless the task, regardless the situation. And, apparently, regardless the battle.

Smirking slightly, the elf dug deep within himself, pulling forth from his reservoir of strength and will, and pulled himself straighter. Steadying himself, he braced his feet, watching as Loghain's blade swept outwards, arcing down and across, sweeping across the demon's midsection. Positioning himself more to the side of the creature, Nelaros gave a wordless shout, and launched himself at the fiery form on the demon, his blade straight before him, his shield up to protect his face from the heat.

The demon, however, would not be caught unawares. Despite being the weaker and least intelligent of the demon ilk, rage demons were not without instinctive defenses, and were masters of offensive capabilities. Snarling, it raised its spindly arms overhead, and then dramatically dropped them, sending a great fire storm over the two men threatening it, knocking them both from their feet and onto their backs, burning. Laughing, it flowed forward and bent down, its arms outstretched to grasp Nelaros in its fiery grasp.

DA:O

There was that familiar tightening in her stomach as she watched as Alistair disengaged himself from the others and make his way towards her. She could feel Roland tense beside her, and tugged his hand gently. His acceptance of her choice to marry Alistair had somewhat surprised her, and the elf quickly chastised herself her vanity. True, she had expected more of an uproar or disapproval. But, if she truly thought upon it, she realized that it was all in keeping with Roland's personality. He was a gentleman, and someone who truly cared for her wellbeing and happiness. Regardless of his own feelings, her happiness would mean far more to him, and he would support whatever decision she made. A truer friend she could never have found.

She released Roland's hand as she turned toward Alistair, noting the smile that was upon his face, and the friendly smirk he tossed at Roland. Beside her, the former knight relaxed as the warden extended a large hand, easily grasping his own in a friendly squeeze. Stepping nearer to the other, Adela heard Roland whisper, "I understand congratulations are in order, my friend."

A momentary spell of surprise crossed Alistair's amber eyes, and his smile widened. "Hold on to that thought," the Second of the Wardens murmured. Confused, Adela stepped nearer Alistair, staring up into his face.

Alistair had turned his attention back to the other companions, pulling Adela around with him, but keeping Roland close as well. He cleared his throat loudly; the others continued with their conversations, laughing and whispering. Grinning down at Adela, he released his hold on her, bringing his fingers to his mouth. He let out a loud, piercing shriek of a whistle. All conversation ceased, and all eyes turned toward the male warden.

Again, clearing his throat for dramatic effect, he paused, smiling as everyone's attention was turned toward him. Adela allowed a small smile to cross her lips, wondering what Alistair was up to.

"I've a few things I need to say." He smiled over his friends, his eyes going from one to another, until they finally rested upon Adela's lovely face. "We've been through much together," he looked back up. "And still have a long road ahead of us. The months we were separated were, well, rather difficult for us all. I don't know if I speak for the others, but I've come to…well…think of all of you as family." He grinned at the round of chuckles that swept through the room. Isolde smiled at the young man, her hands clasped before her as he spoke. Alistair turned his gaze once more to Adela. "However, one of you has become very dear to me, and I am the most fortunate of men to know that she feels the same for me." A slight blush rose to his ears as the others in the room guffawed and 'oooo'd' and 'ahhh'd' at him. Shaking his head, he continued. "And, it is my pleasure to tell you, our family, that Adela Tabris has agreed to become my wife."

There was an eruption of well wishes and cheers as his friends congratulated the couple. Adela turned and noticed that there were tears in the Arlessa's eye, and she resolved to rethink her opinion of the Orlesian woman. However, Alistair was not finished, and he raised his arms, getting their attention once again.

"Because we never know what lies ahead of us, it is our desire to wed before we leave Redcliffe to complete our mission. And we wish for all of you," he swept his arms out to encompass everyone in the kitchen. "to stand by our side as we take our vows."

At that announcement, pandemonium struck as the women gathered around Adela, speaking wedding strategy. Isolde immediately promised a dress and called Gail to her side, asking her to got to the chantry and advise Mother Hannah that there would be a wedding within the next day or two, so she had little time to prepare. With a final look at Alistair, Adela allowed herself to be ushered from the room.

DA:O

Burning, fiery agony flooded his body. Groaning, he pushed himself upright, dragging his sword and shield to him as he stubbornly pushed himself to his feet. He staggered slightly, glancing around. The demon had been caught up in the fury of its own storm, dragged away from the prone elf, and while the torrent of fiery rain did no damage to the thing, the force of the storm had pushed it back, stumbling, struggling to maintain its footing. Smirking slightly, Loghain searched the area, seeking out his elven companion.

He heard a groan to his left, and the shuffle of rubble and feet as the elf pushed himself resolutely to his feet. Loghain saw him, dressed in the heavy armor of a palace guard, his sword and shield held low in his hands, as he struggled to regain his senses. He watched as the elf shook his head to clear it, wincing at the pain. Loghain saw that much of the elf's face had been burned, and patches of hair had been burned from his scalp. Yet, the elf regained his offensive stance, a glower in his eye, as he searched out the remaining demon, obviously intent upon its destruction.

Not for the first time, the human Teyrn questioned the wisdom that did not allow elves to serve in the military. His own experiences with the Night Elves had more than solidified his opinion that in battle few were the equal of an elf defending his home or loved ones.

"Its over there," he heard Nelaros grumble out, his voice raw and cracked. It was when the elf turned to glance at him that Loghain noticed the point of one ear had been burned away, leaving a blackened scar.

Vaguely wondering if any injuries they sustain in the Fade would carry over to their physical forms, Loghain lurched to the elf's side. With a glance to each other, the pair rushed into the dissipating storm, swords slashing out, catching the demon off guard.

DA:O

The women spent the rest of the day and early evening sequestered away in Isolde's chambers, the Arlessa digging through dresses, seeking out the perfect one for Adela, one that could easily be altered to fit the elf's much slighter figure. After much giggling and teasing, with even Morrigan and Wynne joining in on the fun, the gaggle of women finally decided upon a simple yet elegant cream colored gown that settled just below the elf's narrow shoulders. Gail, who still remained by the Arlessa's side, had volunteered to alter the gown. So, the group set Adela upon an ottoman in the room's center, while Gail pinned the larger garment to the smaller elf's frame. Satisfied with the fit, the red haired maidservant carefully helped the other elf peel the garment from her, and promised to have it to her the next day. Surprised by her efficiency, Adela thanked Gail as the other woman swept from the room and into one of the nearby chambers, her sewing implements well in hand.

Then, the talk took a turn for the worse, in Adela's opinion. Morrigan had confirmed (over enthusiastically) that the betrothal pair had not yet consummated their relationship, and that, of course, brought the conversation from the dress and vows to the wedding night. As with her first wedding, she found herself spending much of the evening blushing and desperately wishing for an escape. However, unlike her cousin's party, there was no way for her to escape…the doors had strategically been blocked by chairs or cushions, and everyone seemed to take delight in explaining _exactly _how a man and woman expressed their love. Adela was, admittedly, surprised Morrigan was so well versed. She had presumed the marsh witch had been too isolated for such…encounters. It was Leliana's own frankness that caused a bought of giggling to make the rounds of the room. Isolde offered advice on par with what Anora had offered: straight laced, with little advices on the excuses to use when she wished to avoid such encounters. The other women in the room booed at that advice, with Wynne explaining that there was nothing quite like the feeling one got after the experience of making love.

After several hours of enduring the good natured teasing of her friends, Adela finally managed to escape to her chambers and her own bed. The next day promised to be as eventful as this one, she just knew it.

DA:O

The pain was nearly unbearable. The heat far surpassed discomfort. Yet, Nelaros saw the only route for his continued survival, straight through the path of the slowly dissipating fire storm, straight to the heart of it where stood, albeit stumbling, struggling to retain its stance, the rage demon that managed to retain some control over the dwindling might of the maelstrom.

Setting his feet solidly with each step forward, Nelaros bent his torso forward, putting as much weight in the step as possible, gaining forward momentum against the strength of the squall. He noticed that Loghain - being larger and heavier than he - managed to make his own progress with less effort, his dark head bent slightly to protect his eyes. The demon in the storm's center snarled at the pair, lunging forward as it, too, strained against the firestorm. Drops of flame scattered across the metal of his armor, dancing down his arms, dripping from fingertips. Occasional droplets burned into the flesh of his face, and he managed to ignore the pain as he advanced upon the demon.

The adversaries neared each other, the demon's arms flailing out, leaving fiery paths midair as they swiped at the pair. Nelaros' sword flashed upwards, knocking one arm back, causing the demon to stumble even more so than it had suffered in the wake of its own firestorm. As the creature stumbled backwards, Loghain took the opportunity to wade through the fire and wind, pushing forward, his sword leading. Nelaros followed in the human's wake, taking the opportunity to dash ahead once they managed to push the demon from the eye of the storm to the outer edges, where the storm's fury garnered less strength. With a shout of triumph, the elf leapt forward, slamming the beast in the face with his shield as his sword swept outwards, arcing high, cleaving through the bulbous head. The demon's scream almost sent both men on their heels, but neither faltered. Loghain's blade came in low, slicing across and then into the demon's abdomen. Both pulled their blades back, then rammed forward with their shields, once again bashing into the monstrous creature's form, slashing out with their sharp blades, seeking to end their foe's life as they had its companions.

The demon fell easily enough, once the firestorm ended. Nelaros sported several severe burns over his head and hands, some of the storm's droplets having found their way down his ill fitting armor. Breathing hard, the elf raised a hand to his face, running it briefly over the planes of his features, feeling the lesions upon his flesh, the bare patches upon his head, the damage done his ear. He grimaced as he turned toward Loghain, and noticed that the human had not fared much better than he.

Their eyes met, and an unspoken agreement passed between them.

They needed to hunt out the desire demon and end her existence. Before she set anymore of her 'pets' upon them.

DA:O

The next two days were spent in a blur of dresses, wedding plans and general joviality. And while Arl Eamon made himself basically absent such activities, Isolde found herself set upon the boundaries of all the activity, directing, planning…she was in her element and obviously found much enjoyment in it.

Adela's gaze scanned the room that Mother Hannah had given them at the Chantry, watching as Gail made the finishing touches to her dress before having the elven Warden put it on for the last time. She knew that Alistair was garnering similar attention from their male companions, although she was more than certain there was less flurry of activity wherever he was. Leliana had insisted upon doing up Adela's hair in an elaborate chignon, twisting and curling stray strands of hair to frame her face. Isolde had taken some cosmetics to redden her lips, add a bit more pink to her cheeks, and a faint blue swath over her eyes. Gail then assisted her with the dress, fussing over the fit, adjusting it here and there, pulling it slightly off her shoulders as she exclaimed over the scars that crossed her fair skin.

Once the preparation was completed, Adela stood before the great mirror, staring at the girl who she did not recognize. She merely shook her head in astonishment while her friends continued to gawk and praise her beauty.

It was finally time for the ceremony, and, unlike her first wedding day, Adela found that the butterflies floating around in her stomach were actually pleasant. A more anticipatory feeling flowed through her, and as she stood just at the Chantry's large double doors that led into the altar room, she peeked in, watching as Alistair's attention and eyes went from whomever was speaking to him at that time to the doors she now stood by.

How she wished her father were here! A slight guilty tug awakened in her heart, but she quickly squashed it down. Her father would understand, and would be happy for her regardless of the ceremony. She knew, too, that Alistair's being human would not affect how her father regarded her husband. She grinned at that thought. No. Her father would only be concerned with whether or not the man she married truly loved her, would protect her, and make her happy. Knowing Alistair, she knew that her father would be most pleased.

Leliana pulled Adela to the doors and, with a gentle tug, led her down to stand beside Alistair.

She barely registered the words that Mother Hannah spoke. Although she was surrounded by the people who had become more important to her than almost any others, only Alistair existed. His own amber eyes gleamed with unshed tears, and he wore that goofy grin that she loved. She felt her lips tug upwards into her own grin, and she blinked, staring over at the revered mother with confusion. A chorus of gentle chuckles rose from the throats of her friends. Alistair bent down to her, whispering what Mother Hannah had asked. Blushing sheepishly, she replied, "I do," softly, gazing up into Alistair's face. He answered a similar question with his own, "I do," his voice trembling with emotion.

Adela did hear the revered mother pronounce the pair husband and wife, advising that Alistair could now kiss his bride. Both were now grinning widely, and Alistair swept his wife into his arms, clinging to her in a passionate kiss. Yips and cheers resounded in the air as their fellows greeted the newly married pair, and the two parted slightly, gazing into each others eyes.

There was an eruption of cheers from outside the Chantry's walls as the villagers added their voices to those of those within the Chantry.

DA:O

"We need rest," Loghain growled at his companion, stepping before him to stop his progress through the rubble and debris that surrounded them.

"We need to end this," Nelaros argued. However, his very voice betrayed him, offering up just how exhausted and injured the elf truly was.

The human scowled at the stubborn elf, his pale blue eyes flicking up and down the corridor. There were no signs of the desire demon. And, as much as Loghain wished to just end this foolery now, he knew that neither he nor Nelaros could endure another drawn out conflict against the demon.

Rest was in order. And rest they shall get. Without another word, Loghain Mac Tir shoved the younger man into a nearby room, barring the entryway.

DA:O

Roland picked his way through the crowd of well wishers and lurkers. He glanced back, watching as Alistair swept Adela - his bride - into his arms, kissing her soundly before the cheering crowd. With a heavy sigh, he turned, trudging up the hill to the tavern.

Bright light greeted him as he pushed the door open, and he blinked briefly at the onslaught. Making his way through the relatively thin crowd (it seemed as though most were at the wedding festivities in the town proper itself), he found an empty table, and sat down. He waited only a mere moment before the pretty tavern wench made her way to him.

"I see you've come up from the goings on down in the village," the young redheaded woman quipped, a smile upon her pretty face. "What can I get you?"

Looking up, Roland took in the girl's features. She was pretty, as many tavern wenches in smaller towns tended to be. But, nothing truly special. Her blue eyes glimmered with mischief, but he could also see the tired resignation therein as well. Her dark red hair hung loose to her shoulders. She was tall, but very curvaceous, and the young man found himself admiring her form.

Seeing his interest, the young woman smiled. "I remember you. You're one of the heroes that saved us from the monsters!"

Nodding, Roland replied, "And I believe you are Belle, correct?"

A slight flush graced her cheeks, and she nodded. "I cannot believe someone of your personage would remember someone like me."

Shrugging, Roland replied, "You seemed to have a lot of fire, despite being scared during that time. It's hard to forget someone like that."

Belle glanced back toward the door, a knowing smile crossing her face. Turning back to the man, she asked, "Now, why aren't you down in the village, celebrating your friends' nuptials?"

She watched as Roland's face darkened slightly, and gave a nod. Taking a glance to the barkeep, she settled down into the chair next to the handsome young man. "Seems to me that you have the look of someone who just lost his best friend." She all but purred this last out, adding a sympathetic cluck of her tongue.

Shaking his head, Roland replied, "No. I still have my best friend. It's just…" He let the thought trail off as his gaze wandered to the door, but the perceptive and experienced young woman knew very well what he meant.

"Lover, than?" she asked, placing a gentle hand upon his arm.

Green eyes glanced down at the hand upon his arm, and he shook his head again. "Never a lover, but, I had hoped…"

"And now she's off and married to another man," she moved closer. So close, Roland could feel the heat from her. "I could help you to forget her, if you've the need."

Now he raised his eyes to look into the young woman's blues. Belle was pretty, and the sort he would have cavorted with before. But, 'before' was prior to Adela, and he found that he had not the heart nor desire to so play about. With a shake of his head, he gently removed her hand from his arm. Belle frowned prettily but removed her hand.

"I'm very sorry, Miss," Roland said quietly, still maintaining his gaze. "But, honestly, I do not believe that I want to forget."

Confusion marred the pretty woman's face, and her lips straightened in a tight line. With a nod, she rose, asking what she could bring him. After a thought, Roland rose, offering the girl a few silver for her time, and left the tavern.

He determined he would enjoy his friends' joyous occasion, and see what the Maker held in store for him.


	43. Chapter 43

_Thanks go out to everyone who continues to read and alert. But, most especially to those who review: Shakespira, Nithu, tgail73, CCBug, Eriana10, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Kira Tamarion (who kindly sent me a PM). And, as always, thanks to Biff McLaughlin. She is like the comber of the forums, easily spotting those itty bitty type-o's we all miss. Ahem, not that I enjoy pointing out my boo-boos, I had Isolde sporting two eyes rather than one in the previous chapter. *shrugs* Hey! I didn't forget! I just, ahm, kept typing._

_Pure Fluffiness…Very NSFW…Because, really, it needed to be done._

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 43_

They had managed to make their way from the revelries, although neither could quite understand how they so managed. It seemed as though everyone in the village was determined to offer them their personal congratulations, along with retelling the tale of their rescue of their village.

However, when there was a lull in the activity, when everyone was either enjoying the dancing around the huge bonfire set up in the village's center, or partaking of the vintage wine, Alistair saw his chance. Taking hold of his wife's hand, he pulled her close, whispering loving words, as he slowly and carefully danced her away from the main bulk of the crowd.

Now, they both stood, alone for the first time since becoming husband and wife. Alone in the rooms that had been solely Adela's, but were now theirs. Alistair had insisted that they not lay with one another, even as they always had - simply as friends - until their wedding night. He had been serious about not simply wanting to bed her. She was too special, too important to him, and he wanted there to be no questions about how he felt for her.

And so now they both stood in their room, quiet, each glancing down at their hands or feet, shyly looking up at each other. He nearly snorted with amusement. Just weeks prior they had been kissing and petting with great lust and need. Now they could barely speak beyond the dryness of their throats.

Adela stood before him, still, gazing up into his eyes. She was nervous, there was no doubt. But he was pleased to note that she was not torturing her lower lip, but watched, her face still, eyes searching. Only her twisting hands gave any outwardly sign that she was nervous.

He was nervous as well. Despite the main reason being his own virginity, he knew that, despite the lack of physical evidence, Adela was as virginal as he. However, it was the knowledge that her first time with a man had been of violence made the young man approach her slowly. Kissing and petting out in the wilds with no plan of going any further was one thing; actually moving forward, the consummation of being husband and wife (Alistair realized how he disliked that term) was entirely different.

He smiled down upon his lovely wife, reaching out to pull her against him. Adela moved to him, pressing her lithe body against his. Alistair could feel the heat from her body as she pressed against him, even through the cloth of the wedding clothes they both still wore. _Well_, he thought, _we'll have to correct that_.

Her hair had come loose from the careful chignon Leliana had tortured herself over during the many dances the young elven woman had been subjected to. Slowly, he pushed the hair to the side as he reached behind her, carefully working the laces of her dress free. He felt Adela raise her face and press her warm lips to his neck. His heart started beating faster, and then he felt her tongue flick out, and he gasped. Grumbling at her, his hands fumbled, and he heard his wife giggle up at him.

"Careful, my love," he growled at her as he returned his attention to removing her dress. "Or else I'll just have to rip the dress from your body."

A startled gasp greeted that remark, and he grinned as she pulled away from him slightly, staring up into his face. Giggling, she brought her attention back to his neck, kissing and licking to his collarbone. "You do that," she murmured, her breath hot against his skin. "And Isolde would be very put out that you ruined the dress."

His retort was unintelligible as he strove to work the laces free while his wife continued tormenting him with tongue and lips, her hands roaming up his back, scraping her fingernails as they trailed back downwards. Despite her lack of assistance, he finally managed to get the dress undone, and he pulled his wife back, his hands upon her shoulders. Dark blue eyes raised to his, and he brought his mouth down to her, kissing her passionately as he pushed the dress from her shoulders, past her breasts, and to her hips.

Her breasts bound only with her breast band, Adela pressed her body back against the hardness of her husband's strong body. Alistair's hands were upon her shoulders, then moved down her back, pulling her still closer into his body. The elven woman raised her slender arms, slipped them about his neck, twisted her long fingers into the thick mass of his hair as the man pulled her up into his arms, holding her slender body against his own, his hands running down her back, skimming down the naked flesh of her torso, to the base of her buttocks, eliciting a slight giggle from her. The kiss intensified, and she opened her mouth, slipping her tongue out, sweeping over Alistair's lips, tasting him. With a tight groan, Alistair swept his wife into his arms and carried her to where their bed stood, gently settling her down onto her back. As their kisses increased in passion, the young man pulled at the dress, pulling it free from her hips, tugging it down her legs. Adela lifted her legs gracefully, her lips never leaving those of her husband's, as she now lay, clad only in her small clothes, upon the bed.

One large, calloused hand slipped over her breast, cupping it gently as one finger slowly rubbed against the hardening nipple. Adela moaned, her breath coming to her in great gasps as she raised her hips and pressed them against the young man's. She could feel the evidence of his arousal though the trousers he wore. Breaking the kiss, she stared up into Alistair's face, feeling the flesh of her lips tingling, her cheeks flushed with heat.

"You are far too overdressed, my husband," she murmured, her voice husky with passion.

Chuckling, Alistair resumed kissing his lovely wife, kissing lightly along her lips, her high cheekbones, and down her jaw. His tongue slipped out to taste the naked skin of her neck, and the elf moaned deeper, pressing her body against him again as his fingers resumed their teasing of her breasts, pinching at the already taut pink nipples through the material of her band. Licking and kissing his way down her neck and throat, teeth scraped along her collar bone, his own arousal becoming uncomfortable. Grinning playfully, he pulled the band free, revealing one taut, perky breast. He gazed at his wife for a moment before he took one hardened nipple into his mouth, his tongue lavishing gentle attention around the areola, his lips caressing the soft flesh of her small, rounded breast.

A tight warmth grew in her lower belly, spreading downwards, and she could feel the moisture form between her legs. Growling at her husband, Adela shoved him away as she began her own manic attempts to free him of his own clothing. Grinning at her, Alistair assisted, pulling his tunic over his head. Unable to further restrain himself, he brought his mouth to her breasts once more, teasing them gently with teeth, lips and tongue. She cried out, her back arching, pressing her hips firmer into his own, as his teeth bit down on one sensitive nipple then lightly sucked on it, lathing it with his tongue, before applying the same attention to the other. Almost of its own volition, her body ground itself against the man's clothed erection, pressing her groin against his with abandon. The growl of appreciation that rose in his throat pleased her as her hands roamed down his body to rub against the hard outline of his arousal.

Impatience fueled her next actions. Adela pushed herself away from her husband, kneeling before him as she explored his torso with hands, lips, teeth and tongue. He groaned under the ministrations, capturing her hands and bringing them to laces of his trousers. As her fingers lightly brushed against his erection, he moaned, lifting his head up to her ear, lightly nipping at the sensitive lobe, licking his way along the graceful shell of her ear to the delicately pointed tip. Her fingers, usually so agile and adept, fumbled with the lacings of his pants as she cried out, arching her body as a new wave of pleasure swept over her, pressing her naked breasts to his well muscled chest. She could feel his heartbeat, strong, fast, unsteady, as it matched her own.

Panting, she pulled away briefly. "I told you, husband," her voice held a breathless quality. "Elven ears are _very _sensitive."

A soft chuckle in her ear as he continued his own ministrations, Alistair responded. "So I have heard."

Finally undoing the stubborn laces, Adela pulled the trousers past Alistair's slender hips, pushing them down his thighs, freeing his erect manhood. Alistair then swept her up, and onto her back, struggling to kick his pants off the rest of the way, both of them laughing as he stumbled forward, his chin in Adela's breasts as he fought against the hold his trousers held. Adela's laughter did nothing to help, and he buried his face in her chest as the pants finally came free. Quickly, he untied the lacings holding her small clothes together, and then pulled them free of her body, leaving her naked before him.

He paused, gazing down at the vision that was his bride. The tightness that had grown in his throat threatened to suffocate him. Never had he seen anything as beautiful as the woman who was now his wife. He scolded himself as he felt himself tremble. She was so tiny…he raised a hand, brushing it lightly over Adela's body, watching as goose pimples formed over her smooth skin. He continued to trace over her flesh, over the smooth unblemished flesh, tracing over the scars she had acquired during their mad mission to save Fereldan from the Blight. He bent down, placing a gentle kiss upon her lips, pulling away to resume his exploration of her body. Alistair categorized each scar, grimacing as he recalled the battles he knew she had obtained the blemishes in. A slight flush spread over her form as he continued his scrutiny of her, and he grinned.

"I love you, my wife," he murmured as he bent down yet again to kiss her.

Adela raised a slender hand, tracing over his forehead, down his cheek, across to his noble nose, down to his chin. "And I love you, my husband." She raised her head to meet his kiss half way, then she placed her hands upon his shoulders, and tugged. With a shout of surprise, Alistair found himself lying face down upon the bed, Adela scrambling away from him. Chuckling, he rolled over onto his back as Adela brought her naked form over his body.

A coy grin crossed Adela's face as she gazed down into Alistair's eyes. He raised a questioning brow to her, but her grin merely widened. Dipping down, she kissed him lightly upon the lips, moving down to his chin, then his neck, moving ever downward, kissing each part of him as she past by. That tightening in his throat moved downward as well, causing a slight tingling in his belly, his erection throbbing as it was pressed against Adela's legs. Then her belly. Breasts. And, finally, he could feel her hot breath upon his thrumming manhood.

He tensed slightly as he felt the cool moisture as her tongue lightly flicked over the tip, causing a moan to escape his lips. He could hear Adela giggle as she increased her ministrations, finally taking the tip of his manhood into her mouth, and slowly work her way down. _Maker! Where did she learn this? _He had to wonder. And then all thought flew from his mind as he settled back deeper into the mattress and pillow, enjoying the attentions of his wife.

He risked a glance down to her, and found himself staring into her blue eyes, and she quirked an impudent blond brow at him. He watched as she worked on him, moving up and down, but always keeping eye contact. It was too much, and he felt himself explode. Adela gasped and then gagged as she strove to take him all. Giggling, she withdrew, wiping her mouth shyly, her cheeks crimson from what she had just done.

"Now, my love," Alistair crooned as he pushed himself up to gather his wife into his arms, ready to kiss her. "Wherever did you learn such a naughty thing?" He nuzzled her neck playfully.

Still giggling, she arched her neck back, allowing him easy access. "Ah, well…you see. I had a talk with Leliana and Wynne…"

"Wynne told you about that?" He couldn't believe it.

"No, no…ah, Leliana described it in detail. She even suggested the whole eye contact thing." She pushed herself up to gaze directly into Alistair's eyes. "Told me it drove men crazy." She purred this as she pressed her nude form against his, kissing him upon his neck.

A growl was his only response as Alistair pressed her back down into the mattress, his mouth trailing kisses down her face and neck, between her breasts, to her stomach and lower.

"Well," he mumbled between kisses. "I will have to see if I can put to use the advice _I _received."

She gasped loudly as he made his way through the damp golden curls over her womanhood, his tongue flicking her swollen nub, his hands on each hip, thumbs caressing the smooth skin. As his tongue found her spot, her hips jerked upwards, a cry escaping her lips. He eased her thighs apart further, his head dipping lower as his tongue traced over her folds. A hiss breathed out from between her lips, expanding into a cry of disappointment as he pulled back, gazing down at her. She murmured pleadingly to him to continue, and the young man merely chuckled, bending down to lightly kiss her inner thighs. Trying to get him into the position she wished him to be in, Adela adjusted her legs, but Alistair merely moved along with her.

"You are a terrible tease!" she scolded breathlessly.

Deciding he had tormented her enough, Alistair bent down to her yet again, his tongue resumed the teasing of her nub and folds, and then plunged deeply into her core. His large hands encircled her bottom, holding her in place as he worked tongue and mouth onto her most sensitive area, riding out her bucking and thrusts. Gasping his name loudly, she arched her back, whimpering, as he continued his attentions.

She felt his tongue pull out of her, kissing her lightly before his mouth worked at her nub once more. Her body relaxed somewhat, her breaths coming in panting gasps. With a huge, self-satisfied smile, Alistair kissed his way back up her body, stopping at her lips, pushing his tongue into her mouth. He found himself strangely aroused by the combination of her taste and his. Pressing his legs between hers, he pushed her legs further apart as he rested at the junction of her thighs.

Gazing down at her, Alistair whispered, "I love you," and kissed her again. Her hands rose to travel along his strong, broad shoulders, down his sides, to his narrow hips. She could feel the head of his erection at her entrance. There was a surge of energy, desire, lust and want, and she pushed down to meet him. Reaching down, she grasped him in her hand, her thumb rubbing up the hard length of him, smiling into his mouth as he moaned at her touch. Lifting her hips, she helped to guide him to her entrance, pressing her mouth against his harder. Alistair moaned loudly, pausing to steady himself and gather his breath. Carefully, he pressed his erection at Adela's tight entrance, a groan escaping his lips as he slowly moved forward into her warm moisture, listening with barely concealed pleasure at the whimpers that escaped her throat. He paused, allowing her to acclimate herself to his size. With a nod and breathless gasp of encouragement from his wife, he pushed deeper, burying himself fully into her.

A moan rumbled in her throat, her head tossed back as her back arched. Alistair began thrusting into her slowly, his lips and teeth kissing and nipping her jaw line and lips, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, teasing her tongue as his thrusts grew in urgency and speed. Moaning together, they whispered each other's names, promises of love tumbling from kiss swollen lips. Soon, words were lost as they were driven deeper into a passionate frenzy, Alistair's hips pushing harder into Adela's as she rose to meet each thrust with her own as he invaded deeper into her body. With a growl, Alistair's body tensed as he released his seed deeply into Adela's body. She gasped, pushing herself tightly against him as she met her own climax, her body shuddering against his, her sex tightening and clenching along his length.

Breathing heavily, Alistair pulled himself free of Adela, shifting his bulk to the side of her, enveloping her smaller form in his strong arms. Her lips were parted slightly, her body flushed and sweaty from their exertions, her eyes closed. He brushed a hand along her face and across her eyes, which fluttered slightly. He continued down her chest, to rest upon her belly, his fingers tracing tight circles as he gazed down upon her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she grinned up at him. "Hmmm..." she hummed contentedly, kissing him lightly where his mouth still rested upon her own. "That was rather…_nice_."

Alistair chuckled into her mouth, pulling back. "Nice?" He quipped, moving away to gaze down into her contented expression. "Well, then, maybe we need more practice."

Nodding her approval, Adela wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him back in for a kiss. "Yes, I would have to agree with you, my husband."


	44. Chapter 44

_Ah, the reviews from last chapter…*grins* Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed: Arsinoe de Blassenville, CCBug, Nithu, tgail73, Katrina-Irene, Eriana10, Shakespira, celtic-twinkie, zevgirl_

_Okay, now let's get back to the story…_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 44_

They had finally departed Redcliffe. Artemis was their newest addition, insisting that he become a Grey Warden. Adela still balked at the idea of the joining, but knew that they needed a skilled mage such as Artemis, who had shown some skill with healing, primal and entropic spells. He said, with a smile, he liked to be devastating, but fix any injuries he may inadvertently cause. So, without showing him her personal reluctance, she welcomed him as a recruit, stating that as soon as they learned how to perform a joining, both he and Roland would complete the ritual.

Adela was more than relieved as the castle, and then village, finally settled further onto the horizon. They had turned southward, and although some of their companions cast questioning looks at her, the elven warden had decided to wait until they made camp to explain their current heading.

After all, to their knowledge, they were supposed to have turned westerly, toward the Frostback Mountains and on to Orzammar.

Finally, darkness fell. Camp had been set, with the hares and fowl Adela and Morrigan had caught roasting over the fire. Alistair came over to his wife, pulling her aside as they went over what they were going to say to their companions. Once the meal had been eaten, the pair of wardens called everyone together. Morrigan, knowing what the discussion would be about, settled close to where Adela and Alistair stood, Leliana taking her place by her witch's side.

With a glance to the man who was both her Second and her husband, Adela stepped slightly forward, gazing around at the collection of warriors, mages and rogues that had joined their frantic quest to save Fereldan - and by extension, Thedas - from the Fifth Blight.

"As you've probably all become aware, we've taken a slight detour from our trek to Orzammar," she started, smiling at her friends, her companions.

"Yes, we had noticed that instead of cooler, fresh air we were experiencing the joys of Blight blacked earth," Zevran had chuckled, causing a slight ripple of chuckle from those within their camp.

Adela smiled at the other elf. "As you all probably know by now, Morrigan is the daughter of Flemeth…"

"Or someone who claims to be Flemeth," Roland put in, still not certain he completely believed that the old woman who was their witch's mother was the Flemeth of legend and lore. He merely smirked at the frown Morrigan cast him.

"I believe she is, indeed, the Flemeth," Adela told the warden recruit with a slight smile.

Alistair nodded his head. "If she isn't the Flemeth, she's still an incredibly powerful mage," the former templar put in, recalling how the old woman had shape shifted into a gigantic bird, plucking him and Adela from the bloody battlefield that was Ostagar.

Nodding her head, Adela turned back to the others. "Morrigan has discovered something rather disturbing." Leliana put her arm around Morrigan's shoulders. As the two had become closer, the more Morrigan had told Leliana of her childhood and past. It was obvious the bard knew where the conversation was leading.

"What discovery, Adela?" Wynne prompted, standing behind Artemis, her arms crossed before her chest.

"Morrigan discovered how it was that Flemeth was able to…extend her lifespan," Adela frowned, thinking of the horrific ritual Morrigan had spoken with her about during their months at Haven. The very idea that someone would do such a thing to a person they had raised as their own…the very thought of it still made the warden cringe. And she had had months to live with the notion.

Morrigan straightened slightly, telling the others of her discovery from reading her mother's grimoire. Wynne's face hardened, her lips formed into a hard line. Roland and Artemis stiffened, the former knight's eyes watching the misery of the witch. The Sten stood stolid, as always, his expression thoughtful.

"What does this news have to do with our ending the Blight?" Always so short sighted, the Sten was unable - or unwilling - to grasp the issue they all faced.

So Adela made certain to point it out in no uncertain terms.

"One of us is in grave danger," she said to the Sten, her voice stern, unforgiving. "And when one of us is in danger, we all are." She strode forward slightly, her blue eyes fixing upon the Sten's impassive features. "And if we are all in danger, so, too, is our mission to stop the Blight."

She raised her brows at the Qunari, expecting further argument. The Sten merely stared at her with those alien lavender eyes, taking in her measure. They then shifted to where Morrigan sat, next to Leliana, her back straight, her strange, predator eyes now fixed upon the Sten. After another moment's silence, the huge warrior nodded.

"Indeed. We must not allow any to seek to interfere with our quest," the Sten turned back to Adela. "Commander, what are our next steps?"

She did not take the breath she really wanted to. Of everyone, she knew that the Qunari would have been the tougher one to convince of the necessity of their next move. Sometimes with his single-mindedness, he seemed almost an unmovable obstacle, only wishing to move forward in a straight line, no deviation to the course. That he could see the danger to themselves and their mission by the threat of Flemeth always over their heads only confirmed for the young elf that their next mission was important and necessary.

"Obviously, Morrigan cannot go with us," she said, smiling gently at the witch. Morrigan looked fairly miserable with that declaration, but had known all along she could not accompany the force that set off against Flemeth. "To do so may well give Flemeth the opportunity to take over Morrigan's body as her own. So, she will need to remain behind, but with someone with her, protecting her, until we finish the job and return."

"I'll remain behind with the lovely witch," Zevran volunteered, rising to his feet to stand behind Morrigan. Adela smiled, nodding her agreement. With Zevran's skills, he could hide in ambush and await any attack Flemeth may devise.

Leliana offered to remain behind, but Adela shook her head. "We'll need your bow, Leli," the elf instructed, smiling with sympathy. "Roland will remain behind as well," She looked over at the former knight. While he did not appear happy waiting behind while they faced the evil of Flemeth, he obviously agreed with her choice of leaving a warrior behind. After a bare moment he nodded his head.

Her blue eyes skimmed over the forms of those companions who would accompany them to Flemeth's hut. Then, with a nod, she bid them good night. She expected them to be able to back at the wilds within the next few days.

DA:O

Arawn stretched out in his chair, dropping his feet unceremoniously upon the hard, oaken surface of the ornate desk he used. He smirked as he stared at the pile of paperwork - letters, requests, orders - that stood out in organized piles. One missive lay, spread open, upon the desk, the one he had been reading and re-reading for the past hour before he finally had to set it down. He glanced up as newcomers entered the room.

Rendon Howe and Elissa Cousland strolled into the room, her hand tucked comfortably into the crook of his arm. The mage stifled a slight grimace at the sight of the two. Elissa was undeniably a beautiful, well educated woman of obvious taste and nobility. That she willingly shared a bed with a man like Howe…the mage shook his head. Howe was a valued ally, a brilliant conspirator, and had proven loyal almost to a fault. Such ill thoughts were hardly worthy of the man.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Arawn asked as he straightened, pulling his feet from his desk to stand in greeting. Howe bowed slightly to the mage, yet Lady Cousland remained straight, her dark eyes scanning the form of the mage. Arawn did not stifle the smirk he needed to express. He knew well that the noblewoman did not like acquiescing to a mage. However, she was smart enough to know that he was the organizer of their plans, that without him, all would fail. If she had any desire for the power that seemed just beyond her reach, he was certain she was well aware that it would only be in her hand through him.

Howe shrugged his shoulders before turning to pour himself a brandy. Elissa went and sat down in a nearby chair, watching as her lover turned, leaning against the bar as he sipped his drink. "I just wanted to report the success in the alienage," Howe purred as he set his glass down.

"The Tevinters seemed pleased," Arawn acknowledged as he moved to Howe's side and poured himself a small brandy as well. "Have any issues arisen I was not previously made aware of?"

"Issues?" Howe drawled, frowning. "Not as far as the Tevinters' operations within the alienage go, no."

"What then?" Arawn asked as he turned to face his friend. Howe frowned slightly, glancing uneasily at the young woman. Arawn followed the motion, a blond brow twitched upwards in irritation. "I do not like dramatics, Howe," he growled, turning to resume his seat at his desk. "Out with it."

Taking a breath, it was Elissa who answered the mage. "You recall, I am certain, that I had told you that there is another bastard son of Maric romping about." Arawn nodded, fully recalling the conversation. He had dismissed the other bastard as insignificant, despite his being a Grey Warden. To Arawn's plans for the throne, the knowledge that there existed yet another son of the Theirin line held little to worry over. And, with only two Grey Wardens within Fereldan, he discounted their ability to stop his ascent to the throne greatly.

"Well," Elissa continued, a hand waving slightly as she spoke. "The elf he travels with is from the alienage here in Denerim."

"So?" the mage asked. "Elves come either from the wilds or the Alienages. That the warden came from Denerim means very little…"

"Ah, but you do not know who she is, now do you?"

The mage frowned, glaring at the noblewoman. "As I believe I stated, Lady Cousland," he growled out, "I have little patience from drama."

Realizing she treaded upon thin ice, the young woman said, "She is the daughter of Cyrion Tabris. An artist well known throughout Fereldan..."

"So?" Arawn interrupted irritably. "An elven girl whose father is an artist is hardly anyone to be concerned over, Grey Warden or no."

"It's not her father's lineage we are concerned over," Rendon cut in, certain Elissa would only continue to irritate the blood mage. "But her mother's." At that, the nobleman rose, striding over to the bookshelves. After a moment's perusal, he found what he sought, and pulled a rather plainly bound book from the shelf. As he flipped through the pages, he slowly walked to the desk, his eyes upon the book. He then placed the open book before the mage, pointing to a picture of a wild elven woman. "That is more a cause for concern for the young elf."

Arawn glanced down at the page, taking in the drawing of the elven woman, her expression fierce, her hair short and bound into tiny braids. An elegant bow, one he recalled seeing somewhere before, in her hand as she sighted down a heavily armored Orlesian chevalier. "So, she's the daughter of one of Loghain's Night Elves," he shrugged. "What of it?"

Rendon frowned, and Elissa all but scowled at the mage. "No, Arawn," Howe persisted, pointing at the picture again, this time pointing out the tattoos along the woman's face. "She is the daughter of a Dalish Hunter."

"Dalish hunter?" the mage glanced back down at the picture, his eyes going back to the bow. He frowned. "You're wrong, Howe. The only elves fighting during the rebellion were Night Elves."

"As per the 'official' history, yes," Elissa said as she rose, frowning, to pour a glass of wine. "However, the tome you hold now is one written by Queen Rowan, King Maric and Teyrn Loghain. A more accurate accounting of the rebellion." She smirked slightly. "Very few nobles have read it, however, and certainly even fewer commoners. It is a rather well kept secret, despite the efforts of the King, Queen and Teyrn."

"They had Dalish warriors fighting alongside them?" the mage asked, this time truly studying the picture of the beautiful yet fierce elf.

"That is Adaia Mahariel. She fought by Maric, Rowan and Loghain's sides." Rendon frowned at the picture. "I met her during battle. She was perhaps the fiercest warrior I had ever encountered. Little love for humans, as well." he muttered, recalling his disastrous meeting with the fierce elf those many years before. "She was very close to the Queen and Teyrn Loghain." He tapped a finger at the picture of the bow. "She gave that bow to Loghain several years prior to her death."

_So that's where I recall seeing it_, the mage thought. "But what does our little elven warden's parental history have to do with anything?" he asked. Both nobles rolled their eyes, turning back to the mage.

It was Elissa who spoke first. "That 'little elven warden' was the friend of King Cailan and Queen Anora. She knows Loghain. Apparently, the Teyrn had an almost fatherly interest in the girl. If not more…"

"And?"

"Arawn, my friend," Howe purred. "You are an intelligent man. Can you not see the potential if we were to manage to capture the elf?" The Teyrn of Highever tilted his graying head slightly. "She would be another means for controlling both the Teyrn and the Queen."

Arawn scoffed. "Do you really think they would put such worth in one elf girl?"

Howe nodded. "Everyone knew of the affection the Queen holds for this knife-ear. The Teyrn was a _very _close friend to her mother. Was the girl not so obviously elven, I am certain other rumors would have arisen…"

Arawn scowled over at the noblewoman. "Did you not try to kill this girl while you were following them?" he reminded her.

The Cousland noble merely shrugged her graceful shoulders. "I did not realize who the chit was before I made such an attempt."

Howe smirked at his lover. "That is correct. You were never at court whenever the little elf was about."

"You've seen her before?" the blood mage asked, suddenly intrigued with yet another potential avenue for controlling their petulant guest.

"Indeed I have," the Howe noble purred lasciviously. "Quite a beauty, that one." He sipped his drink. "It was difficult to take one's eyes from her."

"I take it she is the one the rumors about an elf and the King were of?"

"Rumors only," Rendon clarified. "Cailan was, truly, as loyal and faithful to his Queen as any man in love could be. The rumors never went anywhere, despite _some _nobles' best efforts."

Settling back into his chair, Arawn watched his two co-conspirators closely. "It would be a good thing, then, that your assassin failed in his duty." He smirked as Rendon's face paled slightly. "There is still the obstacle of actually getting the girl. She has proven elusive and capable. The rumors of villages being saved by Grey Wardens are starting to persist. If the Bannorn were not so caught up in their petty little civil war, I fear that public opinion would quickly turn to the Wardens, and no one would continue to believe that they were responsible for Cailan's death."

Howe's smile widened, and he stepped up to refill his brandy glass. "We shall merely keep our eyes open and ears to the ground, as it were." He lifted his glass, raising it in toast to the bastard of Maric. "Opportunities, my friend, abound. You merely need to know how to take advantage of them when they do."

DA:O

A soft, feminine chuckled resounded down the desolate corridor. Loghain turned to his companion, watching as Nelaros turned his head this way and that, his sharp elven hearing trying to pinpoint the demon's location. He watched as a slight smirk crossed the elf's face, and Nelaros nodded, twitching his head straight ahead.

Raising his shield, the human led the way, the elf glancing behind them, wary for any more surprises from the predator that hunted them.

The pair was determined that this would be the final confrontation with the vile creature. They had spent weeks fending her and her 'pets' off, and had still managed to survive. Each man continued to sport terrible wounds, but most of those had healed. Nelaros' hair had even begun to grow back.

The chuckle echoed from ahead once more, and the pair found themselves standing atop the once grand staircase. The elf pointed with his sword down the stairs, quietly advising the Teyrn that their quarry stood on the ground floor. Loghain nodded, then carefully began his descent to the main hall.

"Ah, my pretty, pretty pets," the demon purred out, taunting the pair as they continued down the stairway, pausing at the bottom to take in the scene around them.

Standing in her near naked glory was the desire demon. Her hair - a swath of purple flame - blazed outward, her red eyes narrowed as she watched the two men. She floated a few inches from the floor, her hands twitching by her sides. Around her lay the bodies of many soldiers, portions of the ceiling and crumbled statues. The great double doors that led to the courtyard stood, hanging askew upon broken hinges, allowing gray light into the chamber.

"Tsk, tsk," she tutted at the pair as they stood, shields and weapons in hand, ready for battle. "You two have certainly caused me some troubles," she purred, smirking at the two as she floated a couple of feet closer. "But, as they say, all good things must come to an end." Her red eyes settled upon Nelaros, venom and fury blazing therein. "And so must you."

With a dramatic wave of her arms, she shouted out a word of power. The pair launched themselves at her as the bodies of the dead shambled to their feet, clutching rusted swords and dented shields in decaying hands. The demon let out a chorus of laughter as she commended her minions to attack the men.

DA:O

Nelaros staggered back, taking the brunt of the undead soldier's shield bash into his own shield. His sword wavered slightly, but he gripped it tighter, pushing back with his shield, catching the dead man off guard as his sword swept in, lopping off the undead creature's arm at the shoulder. No blood was forthcoming, and the elf found that vastly disturbing. Shrugging his ill ease off, he advanced, swinging his sword out and decapitating the thing in an easy swipe.

He heard Loghain's warning cry, and spun about, twisting his shield closer to ricochet a crossbow bolt from him. Sighting the archer, the elf rushed forward, his shield before him to repel any other bolts, his sword swinging to knock the weapon from the near skeletal man's hands. The weapon clattered to the floor, and the thing merely stood there as Nelaros ended its miserable existence.

A turn, and Loghain was fully in the elf's sight. The young elven man was greatly impressed by the older man's battle prowess. He watched as the elder man bashed his shield straight into the face of one undead soldier while his blade swept out to drive fully into the chest of another. A great war cry erupted from the Teyrn's lips, knocking several of the surrounding foes backwards.

The desire demon watched all, occasionally muttering a word of power, trying to toss icy spells at the two mortals. Loghain always managed to shrug off the power, yet the elven man felt the cold keenly. Gasping for breath, he fought against the ice, pushing himself forward, towards the demon.

She had to die. Otherwise, both he and Loghain would continue to be harried by the seemingly endless supply of animated dead.

Chortling with evil humor, the demon turned her head, gesturing with one hand toward a group of lying dead. Nelaros saw his chance, and leapt forward, his blade held high above his head as he leapt over a fallen statue. His shield was held closely, but his arm held it like a taut spring, ready to unfurl. The demon heard him, and started to turn. Only to find the shield launched into her face, hard, smashing her nose, splaying it across her smooth, pale cheek as the elf's full weight came upon her. With a shriek, she stumbled, her arms flailing as she lost her balance, finding herself down on her back upon the cold, stone floor. Nelaros landed gracefully upon his feet, his sword sweeping downward, seeking a quick end to the demon and to their torment.

But the demon had other ideas, and was not without her own abilities. With a snarl, she pushed herself to the side, twisting and curling, well out of range of the sweeping blade, until her feet were once again beneath her. As Nelaros recovered from his errant swing, the demon rose once more, tall and proud, oblivious to the blood and broken nose that marred her features. With a roar, her clawed hands swung out, striking the elf across the face, leaving deep, bloody furrows in their wake. Eyes watering, the elven warrior stepped back, blinking rapidly to try and clear his vision. Instinctively, his shield raised upwards, seeking to block any further attacks from the fiend.

He stumbled, his injured face tingling. _Poison_. Scowling, he shook his head, glaring into the leering face of the desire demon. He could hear Loghain in the distance, shouting out his war cry, steel against steel and bone, and he hoped that the older man could hold out long enough for him to finish off the demandable demon. She stood there, shaking her head slowly at him, tsking at him. With a great shake of his head, clearing out the fuzziness that threatened just at the peripheral of his awareness, he once again launched himself at the demon, surprising her with his sudden movement.

His blade met demonic flesh, and black ichor flooded from the gaping wound in her side. Her shriek echoed off the stone walls, painfully to the elf's sensitive ears. Grimacing, he pulled back, ducking from a vicious swing of those poisoned talons. He could hear heavy running footsteps, and he risked a glance to see that Loghain had disengaged himself from the undead, and was running at the demon's back, shield held up, blade straight. Nelaros ducked under another swing, knocking her arm away with his shield, smirking at the trail of blood the sharp edge of the shield left along her arm.

He straightened, bringing his blade to bear, as Loghain's own shield bashed into the back of the demon, sending her screaming forward. With his own snarl, the elf braced his blade, driving it deeply into the demon's chest. The force of Loghain's blow caused her to impale herself deeper upon the blade, the very tip erupting from her back in a spray of black ichor. The human danced aside, narrowly missing the shower of poisoned blood.

Red eyes glared into Nelaros' blues, and she spat, cursing the pair as she slumped to the floor, the light going out of her eyes. The elf quickly released his blade, stepping warily back, uncertain what form her death would take. Flesh and muscle, tendon and joints melted away, and the skeletal form of the demon crumbled to dust. The elf almost frowned, so disappointed was he with the lack of fiery display other demons had exhibited while in their death throes.

It seemed rather…anticlimactic.

Around them, those undead that remained suddenly fell to the floor, and crumbled into dust.

Around them, the decayed ruins of the palace disappeared, leaving only a field of gray fog surrounding them.

Loghain turned to offer some words to his companion, and frowned as he watched the elf, a confused expression upon his face, dissipate. Then, Loghain himself lost consciousness.

DA:O

Arawn poured through the paperwork, barely listening as his companions talked quietly in their corner. There was a sudden spasm of exhaustive pain in his head, and the blood mage groaned in pain, clutching his head in his strong hands as the pain intensified. Rendon and Elissa stopped their talk, and Howe rushed to his friend's side, grasping hold of the mage's shoulders as he continued to convulse. Elissa rose to their side, but stepped back as she saw the blood that dribbled from Arawn's mouth, nose and ears.

"Get a cloth!" Howe instructed her harshly, holding onto the other man's shoulders, confused and terrified. She did as instructed, placing it into her lover's outstretched hand. Howe pressed the cloth to the mage's nose, hoping to stem the flow of blood.

Arawn raised a trembling hand and took the cloth from Rendon's own. Muttering at the pair, the mage shook his head, wiping away the blood from his face. He set his hands upon the hard, cool surface of his desk, steadying himself. He raised a face that was pale and clammy. His eyes, usually blue, were yellow and red, and continued to weep bloody tears. Elissa gasped at the sight, stumbling back slightly.

"We must get to Loghain's chambers," the mage gasped out in a voice that was raw and torn.

Without a word, without question, Howe followed the mage from the study, leaving behind a confused and worried Elissa.


	45. Chapter 45

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed: Kira Tamarion (who kindly sent me a PM), celtic-twinkie, tgail73, Nithu, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Biff McLaughlin (both for 43 & 44!), CCBug_

_Okay, because I've been so lax in this: I own nothing of the DA universe. I wish I did, I really, really do. Bioware rocks…David Gaider rocks…and I am just a hack trying to put out there my vision. _

_This chapter is relatively short. Although there are brief glances at Adela and her companions, I wanted mostly to answer what happened to Loghain and Nelaros after their battle with the demon. To me, adding more to this chapter seemed, ah, wrong._

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 45_

Pushing himself to his knees, he groaned, shaking his blond head. Gradually, he opened his eyes, blinking painfully against the bright, flickering light that enveloped the room he found himself in. He glanced to the side, taking note of the cot he had just rolled from, the fall to the hard, wooden floor having jolted him to consciousness.

Cursing slightly, Nelaros planted a foot to the floor, and forcefully pushed himself to his feet. Standing rather shakily, he glanced around, spying Loghain lying upon the large bed that stood on the opposite side of the room. With a glance to the closed door, the elf rushed to the human's side.

He breathed. That was good. Sighing with relief, Nelaros grasped the older man's shoulders, giving him a firm shake. Loghain sputtered slightly, almost as though he was coming up for air from under water. Frowning, the elf gave him a firmer shake, whispering his name, trying to keep the panic he felt rise within him at bay.

Pale blue eyes opened, blinking and tearing against the unfamiliar brightness of the light cast by the fire. The elf allowed himself a smile as Loghain rubbed a hand to his eyes as he pushed himself to a seated position, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed.

The two men stared at each other for a moment before Nelaros spoke. "It would seem that we are free of the demon's prison." There was no missing the near joy that tinged the elf's voice, laced slightly with hysteria, and Loghain's response was a grunt and nod of his head. Grasping the Teyrn's upper arm, Nelaros pulled the man from the bed, and helped to steady him as he regained his footing.

Both men were dressed as they had been when Arawn had placed them in that Fade prison: Loghain in comfortable and well made trousers and shirt, Nelaros in tattered breeches and tunic. Both had socks but were shoeless, and there were no weapons to be seen anywhere in the room. Loghain scowled as he glared around the room that had come to represent his prison even when awake.

"We need to get out of here," the elf had said, moving quickly to the door. He had lost weight, they both had. Maker knew how long they had been imprisoned in that hell. But, he would not lose, not yet. He still drew breath, could move, and wanted to be _free_! He knelt down, studying the locking mechanism to the door, a thoughtful frown upon his face. He took note of Loghain stepping behind him, but was grateful the other man remained silent as he studied the lock.

He was not a rogue. He had very little talents in stealth and intrigue beyond the natural affinity the elven race had. However, as a blacksmith, the elf had made more than his fair share of locks. He was hoping that his experience and knowledge would help him decipher just how to unlock the door, short of bashing at it. That would only draw unwanted attention.

Because the elf was more than certain that armed men roamed the halls beyond the room that so resembled the refuge that he and Loghain had found while in the Fade. And these armed men would be alive and well, and skilled.

"What are the chances our host is still oblivious to our being awake?" the elf asked the human as he turned, rising to search out an object he could use as a pick. Loghain frowned, glaring at the lock, before shaking his dark head in answer. Nelaros stood, staring at the book shelves, taking in the rows of books, allowing the slightly jealous twinge that rose in his chest to fade as he continued his inventory. An ink well and quill stood at the end of one shelf, and the elf stepped over, taking note that the quill was bone rather than feather. As he turned, he took note of another object that lay not far. A confused frown furrowed his brow as he picked up the pen knife that lay thereon.

A blond brow rose as he showed his latest find to Loghain. A black brow rose in answer as Nelaros pocketed the tiny knife, a small nod condoning the action.

Picking up the quill, the elf turned back to the lock. Pressing a long, slender ear to the hard wood, the elf raised a hand, demanding silence from an already silent Loghain. The human raised an amused brow at that, smirking at the younger man. With the slightest of shrugs, the elf began working the slender, pointed tipped end of the quill into the lock, wishing yet again he had some training in such things.

DA:O

_Damn_! The elven woman thought as she glared down at the body of the genlock she just killed, pulling her dagger free and wiping the ironbark blade upon the creature's torn tunic.

Adela glanced up, taking stock of each of her companions, making certain that they all stood or that those injured were being tended to. This group of darkspawn had been small, and under armed. Still, she should have made certain to have had Zevran and Leliana scout ahead further. The nearer to Ostagar and the Wilds they got, the more frequent the darkspawn encounters had become.

She glanced toward the west, frowning slightly. Early spring, and still snow remained upon the ground. In some way, she was glad of that, for it covered much of the Blight tainted grown, and would cover so much more the closer to Ostagar they got.

She and Alistair had decided that, once their business with Flemeth had been taken care of, they would make a detour into Ostagar as far as they could before heading to Orzammar. Their hope was to locate Duncan's records as well as the letters Cailan had told her of. Alistair had expressed a desire to search out Duncan's body as well, and Adela admitted to her husband a need to search out Cailan. Both of them needed closure. The not knowing the fates of the two people who had meant so very much to each of them had become a constant worry for them both.

In many ways, not knowing the ultimate fate of either man represented their fear for each other. They both knew that death may well await them both. And if that was to be so, they hoped that they would be together should something of that sort happen. It would offer a sense of closure, a means for an ending to pick up from and create a new beginning. Taking on the role of Commander had been difficult for Adela because she did not know for fact that Duncan was, indeed, dead. She knew that Alistair, who had been so much closer to the older man, felt an almost desperate need for a funeral for the man. Adela admitted that knowing of her mother's friendship with the man had softened her heart to the possibility of offering the former Commander a resting place as well.

However, it was understood that they could not risk their mission overly much for this. It was agreed that if they met with too much resistance during the trek into Ostagar, they would turn around, immediately, and wait for after the Blight to seek out remains.

She looked up, noting that Alistair was watching her closely. She offered her husband a tight smile, giving her blade a quick shake before sheathing it, oblivious to the fact that Roland hovered nearby, an anxious expression upon his face. Such thoughts would wait for later, she scolded herself slightly as she turned and walked toward her companions. The witch's hut was a mere day or two ahead of them, and they needed to find a safe shelter for Morrigan before they traversed any closer.

DA:O

Arawn led the way, his long legs eating up the distance with a near hurried stride. Along the way, the mage had picked up two guards, ordering them to follow without preamble, Rendon striding by his side. Elissa scurried after the men, her hands holding the silken fabric of her gown slightly from the floor.

_How could they have escaped_? The blood mage raged within the confines of his own mind. The connection between him and the demon had been severed - violently - so he knew that they had, somehow, managed to kill a powerful desire demon in her own domain. He scowled at that, unable to convince himself fully of what the facts were telling him: Loghain and that elf had managed to escape from the most powerful Fade prison he had been able to erect.

It would seem other means of imprisonment must be utilized now. And that he would be forced to, once again, use the vials of blood he had collected from the Teyrn.

He could hear Rendon breathing harshly beside him, and he smirked, his own breathing still coming in easy breaths. Many thought mages weak physically, but the blood mage knew full well it was only those mages confined to the towers that were so. By the Chantry's own design, they were not allowed any physical training whatsoever.

However, Arawn had not always been so confined, and had taken every opportunity, during his incarceration in that damnable tower, to see to it that he remained in good physical form. He scoffed at the Chantry, thinking it ironic that had they not interfered with his mother's plans to formally introduce him to his father, he would never have turned to blood magic nor now seek to control the throne.

He stopped at the door that opened to Loghain's chambers, pushing those thoughts aside as he contemplated his next moves, pulling a vial of blood free from his breast pocket, gathering forth his power as he focused on the door.

DA:O

Alistair stepped nearer his wife as they continued their trek closer to the Wilds. He could feel a heady anticipation for the battle ahead. Not that he actually was looking forward to the fight itself, but the idea of defeating a great evil as the Witch of the Wilds…well, even to a would-be templar that was a dream come true.

He glanced back to where Morrigan walked, silently, beside Leliana. The young man was glad that the witch had found someone who could handle her moods. Despite that the two were hardly close, he and Morrigan could still call themselves friends. Keeping her safe from the evil mechanisms of Flemeth had become very important to him as well.

His gaze slipped from the pair of women and further back, to where Roland walked, alone. Alistair could hardly miss that every now and again, Roland's green eyes would settle upon Adela's small figure, and the expression of longing therein was difficult for the young man to ignore. The warden found himself scowling, and as it deepened, the tighter his face felt. With a startled realization, he firmly relaxed his face, turning his attention back to his wife, smiling down upon her as she continued to lead their group closer to their destination.

DA:O

Footsteps resounded outside the door, and Nelaros rose, motioning Loghain to the side. The Teyrn had heard the noises as well, and now positioned himself by the door, so that he could tackle the first through. Nelaros' hand strayed to the pocket where the tiny pen knife lay, but the door burst open in a shower of splinters and metal, throwing both men to the floor. Tiny shards of wood embedded themselves in the flesh of both men, and they struggled to regain their footing as the guards surged into the room.

Loghain was manhandled back against a wall, Rendon Howe rushing forth, a wickedly curved dagger in hand, gleaming with poison, pressed against the bare flesh of the Teyrn's throat. Nelaros jumped quickly to his feet, his face awash in fury, dodging past the guard who sought to restrain him, leaping over the debris on the floor at the blond mage who stood in the doorway.

The blood mage turned a calm eye to the approaching ire of the elf, and, with a flick of his hand, encompassed Nelaros in a glaring field of lightning. A slight smirk crossed the face that was so like King Maric's as the elf convulsed within the field of light and he stepped into the room.

Arawn then turned to where Loghain struggled against the smaller Howe. Brandishing the vial, he chanted the alien words of Arcanum, and watched, satisfied, as the Teyrn's body went rigid, and his struggles ceased. He nodded to Howe to keep a firm hand - and blade - upon the man. Rendon nodded his agreement, turning to smirk evilly at the Teyrn that had been Maric's closest friend and advisor.

DA:O

"Adela, if you've a moment, please," Morrigan had left Leliana's side, and, with quick strides, caught up to the warden pair. She offered Alistair a slight, apologetic smile before turning her full attention to the elf.

"Yes, Morrigan?" Adela turned to her friend, a hand reaching over to grasp the witch's hand. A slight moment of satisfaction crossed the elf's mind; mere months ago, Morrigan would have flinched away, a scathing retort upon her lips at such familiarity.

How much change can occur in the matter of months, she thought, her eyes seeking upwards to her husband's face, smiling when she saw the love in his eyes as he returned her gaze.

Morrigan cleared her throat, her eyes going to the surrounding woods. "Mother's hut is but a day or so away. I felt it necessary that we find a campsite now before we travel much further into the Wilds."

There was no missing the hesitant urgency in Morrigan's voice, something so out of character that both wardens paused in their walk to turn fully to the witch. Her dark head lowered slightly as she sought to hide the anxiety she knew was clear in her eyes.

After a moment's thoughts, Adela turned to the rest of their group, who had also stopped when the wardens had. "We should locate a secure campsite here," she instructed, motioning for the Sten and Roland to seek out the spot. Zevran had immediately melted into the shadows, while Leliana stepped nearer the trio at the front.

"Thank you," Morrigan whispered, gripping Adela's hand tightly before releasing it. "'Tis an unnatural feeling for me, this fear…"

"It's only natural, Morrigan," Adela assured the witch with a small, soft smile. "Fear is what keeps many people alive. It was your fear - your _concern _- that drove you to first speak with Alistair about your discovery." The elf took a slight step forward, wanting to embrace the human woman, but not quite certain Morrigan was ready for that. "And it is _our _fear for _your _safety that determines our next step."

Yellow eyes widened slightly at that, and she glanced down as Leliana took Morrigan's hand in her own. "'Tis a strange feeling…" the witch murmured, still gazing down at where Leliana's tanned hand grasped her own paler one.

"What's that?" Alistair asked, confusion marring his handsome face as the witch let the silence drag on for several moments.

Looking up, Morrigan's eyes traveled from Alistair's face to Adela's, finally resting upon Leliana's. "This friendship notion…'tis most confusing and yet…comforting as well."

Laughing slightly, Adela did give into her impulse and hugged the taller human woman. "Good." She smirked into the witch's face before releasing her. "It's supposed to feel that way."

DA:O

Arawn studied the young elf carefully, his face expressionless as the young man convulsed in his crushing prison. "I believe our Tevinter friends may find a use for this one," he finally said, glancing over to where Rendon and Elissa stood by the doorway, Howe holding his blade securely against Loghain's neck. "His will is exceedingly strong."

A brow rose in question to that. "Won't that make him more…difficult for them to control?" the nobleman asked, his blade pressing tighter to Loghain's neck, ignoring the glare Loghain shot him from beneath his brows.

Smirking now, Arawn said with a knowing glance to where the Teyrn stood captive. "As odd as it may seem, a blood slave's value is in how strong their will is rather than how docile and weak minded. The stronger the will, the more useful the slave. This one," he waved a near negligent hand toward Nelaros, "has proven his will time and again. His strength both of character and physique. And, given the elf's obvious beauty," he smirked. "Trust me. He will fetch us a price that could purchase many arms and armaments for the army."

Loghain spat out a curse for his companion, who now found himself yet again captive. Arawn merely scowled slightly at the Teyrn.

Arawn took note of the sour look that crossed Elissa's face. He turned his glare to the noblewoman. "Come now, Lady Cousland," his tone, while mimicking a gentle tease, held a steel honed warning as well. "You may well look down your noble nose upon a mere maleficar such as I. However," he took a step nearer the woman, causing her to take a cautious step back. "even you cannot deny that without my power, you could never hope to elevate your station as your dreams and desires demand."

His eyes were hard, intense, and the noblewoman, who certainly was no fool, noticed that the bloodshot quality was disappearing, being replaced by the blood red that marked his power. The power of blood that the Chantry so feared. That anyone with half the sense would fear. She found herself quaking in the face of the man's power, his intense stare, but found herself frozen in those eyes, unable to move.

Arawn stood, glaring down at the woman, who finally, wisely, lowered her glare with a slight nod. Howe, who had been holding a breath while holding the blade steady at Loghain's jugular, released the tension he had been feeling.

With a jerk, the blood mage indicated the guards to take hold of the elf. Then, he stepped over to where Loghain stood, his eyes, still blood red and angry looking, scanned over his thinner form. With the smallest of smiles, the maleficar glared at the older man who had been a close friend to the man who had sired him. "I believe, Teyrn Loghain, that a family reunion may well be in order." Loghain frowned at the man as he felt his power wash over him yet again. "I believe that you are familiar with a young elven woman by the name of Adela Tabris?"

Frozen as he was, Nelaros could not let out the gasp of surprise he felt at the mention of Adela's name. Arawn turned his attention to the elf, his red eyes narrowing slightly in thought. A knowing grin came into being, and he motioned for the guards to take the elf down to the dungeons as he released the crushing aspect of his spell, keeping the elf confined and immobile, to await transport to the Tevinter headquarters.


	46. Chapter 46

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed: celtic-twinkie, Nithu, CCBug, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville, tgail73, Superstar Kid_

_As always, thanks so much for reading and reviewing! They make my day!_

_Whew! I'm a little worn out by this chapter. I hope that it meets expectations. I'm not sure if it's exciting enough, but I hope some questions are answered…or maybe more questions will be posed… *cheeky grin*_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 46_

"You must be wary of her magic," Morrigan again reprimanded Adela and her companions as they prepared to trek the day's distance from their campsite to Flemeth's hut. "She is a very powerful shape changer," the witch reached over and tugged on the elven woman's arm, causing her to cease her preparations and turn to look fully into the human's anxious eyes.

"Yes, we've seen that," Alistair put in as he tugged on his cloak, pulling his pack upon his back. "That huge bird she changed into was quite impressive."

A thoughtful expression in her eye, Adela asked, "Can she change into something more…ominous?"

The dark haired witch turned away, her yellow eyes scanning the woods about them. "Like myself, she can change into avian creatures. Once she joked about assuming the form of a griffon, but I think she but teased a small child. I have seen her change into a bereskarn. However," she looked from man to woman, "she has power that not even I have had occasion to witness. Please be very careful of any tricks. Both of the tongue and arcane."

Nodding her blond head, Adela reached over and gave what she hoped was a reassuring pat upon the other woman's arm. With a final look, offering a nod to Roland's anxious expression, the elven warden called together those who would be accompanying them, and quietly led them from the campsite.

DA:O

A shadow fell across his desk, and the mage looked up to see the concerned features of his beloved. Cauthrien stalked across the room, removing her gauntlets and then setting them down upon the bar. Turning her back to the mage, she carefully poured herself a snifter of brandy. Arawn raised an amused brow, yet remained silent as his lover - and one time loyal lieutenant of Loghain's - settled herself upon the settee across the way.

"Something amiss, my love?" the blood mage asked, careful to keep his amusement from his voice.

Cauthrien scowled at the man, taking a sip of the warming liquor before responding. "The Bannorn continues to stir up trouble," she finally said, frowning into her glass. "They fail to see that the civil war they insist upon only drains all of Fereldan's resources."

"They are short minded," Arawn shrugged, rising from his chair to walk across the room. "Short minded people rarely see beyond their own borders. As such, the Banns can only see what is right in front of them."

"Yet they will persist, until we have nothing left with which to battle the darkspawn."

With a sigh, Arawn settled himself beside the woman. She remained stiff and unwelcoming for many minutes as they sat in silence. Finally, with a great sigh, she drained her glass, setting it upon the floor before resting her head upon Arawn's broad shoulder.

"They are fools, are they not?" the woman asked, her voice quiet as Arawn threaded his fingers into hers. She could feel him nod.

"Indeed they are, my love," the blood mage turned slightly to gaze down upon the profile of her face. "It was your own foresight that allowed you to see that Loghain, and those like him, were not what this country needed to progress forward."

"Maybe I was just mesmerized by your charms?" the woman joked, tugging slightly upon his hand.

Arawn smiled, lightly kissing her on the forehead. "Whatever the reason, glad I am that you are by my side, my love." His arm wrapped around her broad shoulders, never relinquishing the hold he had on her hand.

Cauthrien smirked up, pushing herself slightly up. "When Howe first approached me…I admit to some reluctance." She turned her brown eyes to gaze into Arawn's blues. "The thought of betraying my oath to Loghain seemed…unconscionable. However," the look in her eyes intensified. "He would have gone along with Cailan's decision to allow the Orlesians back into our borders!" she almost spat this, and Arawn tugged her back down, patting her head back to his shoulder. "Everything that had been sacrificed for Fereldan's freedom would have been for naught! King Maric would have rolled over in his grave had he even heard the words from Loghain's mouth."

Smiling, Arawn again kissed the woman in his arms. "Have no fear, my love," he purred, patting her shoulder, feeling the tension leave her body. "The Orlesians shall not threaten Fereldan again. We," He pulled her up, gazing into her eyes. "are what is best for Fereldan."

"But, what if this is a Blight?" she asked, finally voicing her fears. "Are not the Grey Wardens needed for such a thing?"

Frowning, Arawn shrugged. "The Grey Wardens surround themselves in mystery and subterfuge, stating that only they can defeat a Blight. I am uncertain why they believe such, but I cannot imagine it is so. Wardens are recruited, not born. So there is no innate ability that allows them to do so. Take Ostagar for example: they died, just as every other soldier did. I think it is merely propaganda, a means to ensure that they have footholds in the countries across Thedas." He rubbed his chin against her head. "A means to ensuring power."

Cauthrien nodded her dark head, sighing as she allowed her body to relax further. "Loghain felt the same way," she admitted in a mutter.

Chuckling, Arawn pulled his love closer, hugging her tightly. "Well, there, my dear, is the only thing in which the dear Teyrn and I agree."

DA:O

When Adela and her group had left the campsite, Morrigan and those who remained behind began their tasks. Artemis had remained behind, despite Morrigan protestations that Adela would need every mage available. Adela's argument that Artemis' abilities with hexes and glyphs near rivaled Morrigan's own had settled the argument down to a steady…disagreement. Until Artemis pointed out that between both mages they could lay upon the ground several glyphs and magical traps surrounding the campsite. Morrigan had settled down then, allowing her anxiety for Adela and the others to ease as she and the Circle mage went about their work.

Zevran had melted into the shadows, setting his own traps, both upon the ground, mid way up trees and to the tree tops themselves. The reasoning: Flemeth could fly. Hopefully, if she managed to escape from the others, she would find injury - or worse - when she encountered Zevran's lethal traps.

As the mages and rogue set their traps, Roland had settled by the campfire, his weapons - his sword and shield, crossbow and great sword - laid out, waiting tending.

The young knight had not been happy with the decision that he remain behind to protect Morrigan in the event Flemeth managed to escape Adela and her group. He had truly felt that the Sten the more logical choice, if she truly felt it necessary to leave a warrior behind. However, Adela had been adamant about the decision: As loyal and trustworthy as the Sten was, his pragmatism made him ill suited to protect Morrigan if he felt that so doing would harm their quest. Damning her, knowing that Alistair would never allow anything to happen to her, Roland began the task of checking each weapon for nicks, and began honing his blades, checking his shield for weak spots and checking his inventory of bolts.

All while praying that the Maker watch over Adela, and that they be successful.

DA:O

He stalked, glaring at the locked door, hoping that someone - anyone - would enter so that he could vent his ire. He had heard Arawn's plans for him, but it was not for that matter that he found his anger rise.

_Adela lived_! She had managed to escape from Vaughn and had, somehow, escaped Denerim.

And that filthy blood mage planned to use her! How, he was uncertain. But use her, he had no doubts of.

Not the way he had taunted Loghain with the phrase of a family reunion.

Not with the smirk he had seen the maleficar cast in his direction before the guards had dragged him away, helpless in that confounding imprisonment spell the coward had cast upon him.

Give him a blade, and see how condescending he was.

Nelaros rounded upon the door, slamming his fist into the iron bound wood. He felt the pain as the flesh tore at the impact, and he saw the blood that marred the wood as he pulled his hand away. The pain was good. It helped to remind him that he still yet lived.

His only hope was the he continue to so that he could find escape from whatever new hell the human mage planned to send him into.

DA:O

It was with Morrigan's many warnings regarding her mother ringing in her ear that she approached the barely familiar site that had heralded her and Alistair's start as the only two surviving Wardens in all of Fereldan. The once lush swamp ground was now blackened and sooty, the trees - from the cedar to pines - had all dropped their leaves and nettles and stood, stark, black and ruined against a sky that had taken on a gray pallor. The once vegetation strangled waters of the swamp were now black and brackish, the odor of decay and death rising from the glossy surface in a toxic fog.

Adela glanced back to Alistair, and found him surveying the area with much the same interest as she had. He turned his warm, amber eyes to her, and she saw the worry that resided in their depths. With a glance to those who accompanied them - the Sten, Leliana, Wynne, Niall - she reached down and patted Hafter between his ears. The warhound gave a slight growling rumble as he stood, vigilant, studying the area surrounding them.

The two wardens looked at each other and, with a nod, led the others into the sanctum of the Witch of the Wilds.

DA:O

The crackling of the magical energies that now surrounded the camp tingled along her senses, causing the hair along her arms to stand slightly. She risked a glance over to Artemis, who was utilizing the time by preparing healing poultices, potions and other such necessities. She knew he was doing it to keep himself occupied, not like her, who merely sat by the fire, waiting.

Zevran had managed to catch several conies in the surrounding wood, and they now sizzled upon spits over the fire. Morrigan glanced, again, to the surrounding woods, knowing full well that none of their departed friends could have possibly returned so quickly, but still finding herself anxious and waiting.

The log she sat up shifted slightly as Roland took a seat next to her, and she lifted her dark head to stare at the red headed young man.

Roland sat, silent, his gaze fixed to the flickering flames of their campfire. Morrigan found within herself the capacity to pity the young man. Truthfully, she had thought the young man beside her a better match for Adela than Alistair. Roland had the steadfastedness that complimented Adela's almost impulsive personality. Alistair's own naiveté and child like behavior could only lead them into disaster.

However, it had not been her prerogative to choose Adela's mate. She did like Alistair, although she would never willingly admit to that. She just liked Roland more.

A sigh escaped her lips, and she lightly patted the young man's leg as she continued her surveillance of the woods. She noticed, from the corner of her eye, that Roland had turned his attention to her, glancing down at the hand that had patted him. The slightest of smirks crossed her features, and the pair continued to sit and wait.

DA:O

"So, lovely Morrigan has finally found someone to heed her call," Flemeth crooned as the companions approached. "Such lovely music she plays, doesn't she?"

Adela stepped in front of the others, raising her hand for them to halt. Eyeing the old woman, the elf frowned. Flemeth seemed perfectly at ease, with the hint of amusement shining in eyes so much like Morrigan's. Yet, unlike Morrigan's, these eyes were cold, hard as stone, bereft of true life.

The eyes of an abomination, of evil. The eyes of the woman whose existence would, ultimately, lead to the death of one of her dearest friends.

"We've learned of your little secret, Flemeth," Adela replied evenly, her arms crossed before her chest. She kept herself still as the old witch laughed.

"Of course!" she chortled, "But what secret, I wonder?"

"The means with which you use to extend your unnatural life," Adela replied calmly, taking note of Leliana's shifting behind the group.

Flemeth's amusement played itself out, and she regarded the young elf before her. "Such changes you have seen since last you were here, young Warden," the witch remarked, her eyes fixed upon Adela's face, as though she could see beneath the younger woman's skin. "So many changes," she nearly muttered. Suddenly she brightened, grinning up as she remarked, "Ah! The Warden who is not a Warden! How…poetic. I wonder what consequences will ensue from that?"

Alistair cast a confused look at Adela, who remained steady and still, watching the ancient mage. "Whatever word games you are about now, Flemeth, will not work." The elf scowled. "If your death is the only way to ensure Morrigan's continued living…"

Flemeth raised an impatient hand, scoffing at the elf. "Bah!" She bent neared, ignoring completely the mages and warriors of Adela's group, focusing solely upon the elven woman herself. "I have answers…answers to so many of your questions." She straightened, smirking at the slight question within Adela's eyes. "I know many of the Grey Warden secrets." She paced slowly before the group, pausing as she turned to see what effect her words had on Adela before continuing. "The joining…why Grey Wardens are needed to end Blights…so many, many more secrets that your Order thought so very well hidden and secure."

Adela could not hide her surprise at Flemeth's words. The old woman knew how to perform a joining, how to defeat an Archdemon. She took note of the witch's amusement at her curiosity, and found herself shaking her head.

"We end your evil here, witch," she persisted, pulling her bow free from her shoulder.

Scowling angrily, the witch said, "Very well! Morrigan, however, must earn what she intends to take! I am not fool enough to want to kill the last two Wardens within Fereldan, young one," the witch bit out as she gathered her power around her. "However, I can kill one of you before sending the rest of your merry miscreants scurrying away!"

Leliana and Adela had bows in hand and arrows notched and flying as the witch finished her words. Alistair, his templar training alerting him to the magic Flemeth pulled within her, raced forward, using his templar ability to pull within his own stores of willpower, releasing a cleansing aura that sapped the elderly witch of her spell. Scowling heavily, Flemeth barked out a word of power, blasting the ex-templar and the Sten, who had raced to Alistair's side, tossing them to their backs upon the ground. One of Adela's arrows whizzed by her head, and the witch angrily barked another word, holding her hand aloft as a bolt of lightening sprang to life, erupting from her fingers to strike the elf squarely in the chest. With a shock, the elf gasped, dropping to her knees as she fought against the powerful spell.

Wynne immediately sent a healing spell into the stricken woman, followed closely by a rejuvenating spell. As the elder mage did so, Niall raised his staff, sending forth a powerful arcane bolt, hitting the ancient mage in the chest.

Hafter leaped to his mistress's side, whining slightly. She nodded her head as she regained her feet, sending the great warhound to the side of her husband and the Qunari.

Alistair had regained his own footing, gathering his willpower yet again. The Sten rose with a great roar in his native tongue, launching himself with a fury at the witch. Flemeth smirked at the great warrior, but that smirk was short lived as Alistair's smite hit her fully, flinging her away from the Sten, stumbling over the rise leading to the swamp.

Hafter bolted past the Warden and Qunari, his growl echoing amidst the stricken trees. Adela and Leliana raced to the rise, arrows notched and ready for flight. What they found rising there was not what they had expected, and, terror filling their chests, they let their arrows loose, quickly grasping another, setting them to fly as well.

For below them, Flemeth stood, power radiating from her shriveled form, growing, elongating. Her body grew, continuing to do so as Alistair and the Sten raced to the women's side. Wings burst through the flesh of her back, and she growled as her body grew, becoming serpentine and thrashing, a long tail jutting outwards. Without a word, the men rushed forward, their blades raised as the elf and bard continued their assault of arrows, Wynne and Niall adding their spells to the continued assault.

Alistair staggered as his blade his upon the hard dragon skin of the almost fully transformed Witch of the Wilds. He glared at the witch turned beast, but had not the willpower to cast forth any of his templar abilities. The Sten had waded around to the other side of the thrashing beast, and together they pounded at her with their blades, Alistair hitting his shield solidly against the unyielding flesh.

"At least it's smaller than the dragon at Haven," Adela muttered as she notched yet another arrow from her dwindling supply, glancing at the quickly tiring mages and Leliana's own dwindling supply of missiles. They had been more prepared for a battle of sword versus spell, and perhaps her transforming into something less…majestic and lethal - less terrifying. She watched as the dragon dipped her head down, sending forth a gout of fire that singed Hafter along his flank, the back draft causing the Sten to stumble back and Alistair to dodge quickly from her approaching maw.

With barely a moment's thought, Adela dropped her bow, shrugging off her quiver, placing it to the ground by Leliana. Ignoring the questioning looks from the bard and the mages, she instructed them to continue assaulting the dragon. With a deep breath, the elf raced away, pulling her ironbark daggers free of their sheaths, and sped toward the dragon and the warriors.

DA:O

Alistair frowned at the great beast, stumbling backwards, his shield held up as the beast's great head swept around, nearly knocking him from his feet. _A dragon_! He could not risk a glance from his foe, but he found himself worrying greatly for his wife, and prayed fervently that she remain at a distance, using her bow to its greatest effect.

He sought out the reservoir of willpower that all templars used when battling magic. His stores were depleted, so great was the magical power of the mage he now battled. Shape shifters were not mages that templars were trained to battle against, as shape shifting was not a recognized magic taught to those mages within the circle towers. _How shortsighted_, he groused as he dodged back, stepping heavily to his heel as he swung his blade out, rasping it along the side of the dragon's face, opening the armor-like scales along the side of the creature's maw. Seeing the opportunity, he drew his blade back, jamming it viscously into the fissure that had opened in the great beast's face, driving into the creature's mouth, lodging firmly between the bone and cartilage.

Flemeth the dragon roared out in agony and irritation, her great head swinging back and forth, the human clinging tenaciously to the blade that was lodged tightly into her visage.

Alistair kicked out, trying to catch his foot over the dragon's shoulder. Instead, the motion merely caused the stuck blade to cut deeper into the bone of the dragon's mouth, and the great beast roared its anguish. Grinning, Alistair lifted both feet from the ground, tugging viciously upon the blade, the enchanted blade sawing deeper into the bone, wedging itself tighter, the man's not inconsiderable weight pulling the hilted end down as the blade's point - still in the beast's mouth - drove upwards, cutting and slicing into the more tender roof of the great wyrm's mouth. He could feel the healing spell that enveloped over him, followed closely by a rejuvenating spell. He did not know which mage cast them spells, but he was more than grateful as he continued to hold on and drive the blade deeper into bone and flesh.

Blood seeped from Flemeth's mouth, and she raised a claw, seeking to tear the young man free of his blade before more damage could be done.

DA:O

Like lightening the elven warden darted away from her companions, her blades held tightly in each hand, her head low, shoulders hunched slightly forward to give herself better speed and momentum. She barely registered that the Sten still stood, albeit bloody and battered, his greatsword taking great swings - and chunks of dragon flesh - with each swipe. Her heart clenched as she saw her husband clinging tenaciously to his blade, wedged deeply into the dragon's mouth, a great clawed talon swinging in to capture him. _See it, see it, see it…please, please, please_, she kept chanting as she turned her eyes fully to the lowered head of the dragon, knowing she had to move faster if she hoped to pull off the stupidly daring stunt she was about to perform.

Alistair had swung his body, pulling down on the blade, and then raised his legs to avoid the dragon's swipe just as a lightening bolt shot from Niall's fingertips. Flemeth's head bowed even further down, in an effort to drop the human man to the ground, thereby lessening the tension upon the blade.

Grinning, Adela launched herself from the ground, a cry upon her lips, as she drove her blades forward, digging them deeply into the dragon's neck, each blade slipping easily between the scales and into the soft flesh beneath.

Flemeth roared, her head rearing upwards, causing Alistair to loosen his grip upon his sword, dropping him unceremoniously to the ground. With the upswing, Adela swung herself up and around, temporarily pulling her blades free as she rose with the dragon, landing astride the great beast's neck. With a defiant cry, the elven warden drove her blades once more into the neck beneath her, again finding purchase, driving and twisting the blades mercilessly.

DA:O

The ancient mage in dragon's form bucked, seeking to unseat the elf upon its neck. The Sten's swings grew in strength and rhythm. Alistair frowned as he pulled his second sword from its sheath, lamenting the loss of his heavily enchanted blade as he picked his shield from the ground, and prepared for his own onslaught.

And tried very hard to keep from obsessing over the fact that his wife now sat astride the neck of a high dragon.

DA:O

Leliana took careful aim, sighting her arrow down her arm, to the malevolent, crazed red eye of the great dragon before them. She pushed aside all thought that the creature before them was truly the ancient and powerful witch of the legends. She pushed aside all thought that in the form of a high dragon she was immensely strong. The dragon blinked, and she let the missile loose, quickly and easily notching another to sight down. As the eye lid blinked upwards, opening the eye, the arrow found the soft tissue of the eyeball, digging deeply into the sensitive organ. She saw that Adela clung to her daggers as the dragon bucked up again, and watched as Alistair slammed his shield into the creature's foreleg while the Sten drew his great blade up and slashed deeply into the broken scales along the dragon's right shoulder. Grinning, she let loose another missile as the beast slouched downward to try and capture Alistair in its great maw.

As the missile fired, driving into the corner of its eye, Leliana saw that Adela had pulled one and then the other dagger free, rising slightly from her seat. The bard felt her throat go tight and dry as she grasped an arrow from Adela's quiver - one enchanted with ice - and notched it carefully as the elf sprang forward, over the dragon's head, swinging her arms inward to drive both blades deeply into Flemeth's eye sockets.

Nodding her approval, the bard let loose another steady stream of arrows.

DA:O

Shaking her white head, Wynne sent a rejuvenating spell over the impudent little elven woman as she watched Adela drive her blades into the dragon's eyes. She then pulled her magic inward, releasing it into the form of a great, rock-like fist, watching with satisfaction as it slammed into the dragon's side, loosening many of the scales beneath its force.

Alistair stumbled, and the spirit healer quickly sent healing throughout his body, followed by several buffering spells and rejuvenating. She watched as the young warrior straightened, his shield held steadier now as the dragon's head swooped downward in an attempt to unseat the agile and tenacious elf. The young warrior took advantage of the dragon's close proximity, and grabbed hold of his stuck blade, dropping his shield and rising upwards as her head rose.

Again, she shook her head at the foolishness of youth, sending more spells out to the warriors and elven rogue as they continued their close up battle with the quickly weakening witch in dragon form.

DA:O

Adela gave her blades a good twist, enjoying the shriek that burst forth from the great dragon's lungs. With a brutal yank, she pulled the blades free, settling back to lock her feet beneath the dragon's chin. Taking a deep breath, gathering her strength, the elven warden brought her blades before her, twisting them around so that the blades pointed outwards. Then, gathering all of her strength, she drove them forward, burying them hilt deep into the gap between the dragon's skull and spine, digging deeply into the dragon's brain.

Convulsions took over the dragon's bucking, and Adela released her blades, her legs still locked tightly beneath the great maw, bringing her arms around to grasp the blood and fluid wet bones surrounding the dragon's ruined eyes.

Below her, she could barely hear as Alistair cursed as the dragon's convulsions increased and became more violent. She could not see him well, but heard a slight thump as he released himself and fell to the ground below.

Flemeth's thrashing increased as her dying brain continued to try and fight off her assailants. Adela's arms and legs ached from the effort of holding on, but she knew that if she released her hold now, she would plummet helplessly to the ground beneath her and the dragon.

And even while dying, she was certain Flemeth would take any opportunity to end her life if at all possible.

And so she clung, hoped, and gritted her teeth against the pain and weariness that overtook her body. Her arms began to quake with the effort and exhaustion, and her legs began to slip their hold, causing her to rely more upon her hand holds. Desperate, she leant her body against the bloody skull of the dragon, holding on for dear life as the dragon violently bucked and convulsed beneath her, undulating and quivering as death began to take hold.

And it was a violent fall with which Flemeth fell to the ground, the earth beneath her shuddering and echoing the fall beneath the feet of those mages, warriors and rogues that had ended her life. A great sigh expelled from greater lungs, and Adela forced herself to release her precious grip, her fingers cramped, legs aching as she relaxed. With a deep breath, the elf slid from the great, stilled neck, her knees buckling as her feet hit the ground.

Weary himself, Alistair forced himself to his feet, stumbling to where his wife knelt, covered in blood. He surveyed her carefully, and, once he was convinced that none of the blood was her own, pulled her in for a tight hug, murmuring over and over again that she was never to do anything so stupid ever again. She nodded her agreement against his neck, her arms far too tired to wrap around his great form, despite how much she wanted to pull him even closer and tighter against her body.

DA:O

A great wave of magic washed over the Wilds, and both mages lurched to their feet, staves held ready, spells quickly called to mind. The power they felt was immense, ancient, and malevolent, and both mages - human and elf - watched each other, a question in both sets of eyes. They did not notice as the warrior and rogue rose from their perches, the rogue disappearing into the shadows as the warrior pulled shield and sword up, green eyes wary, searching for their foe.

Then it passed, leaving behind in its wake a feeling of finality. No, not finality, but as close to it as possible. Morrigan let out a deep breath. Her mother, in her current incarnation, was dead. Truly dead, she was unsure. But, dead enough so as not to cause her any further grievances for some time. And, hopefully, should she ever find herself yet again facing the might that is - was - Flemeth, Witch of the Wilds, ancient mage, abomination, Asha 'belannar…her mother…she would be better prepared, more powerful, and capable of ending the threat she posed once and for all.

For now, she was safe, free…and had much else to do.

DA:O

"Don't ever do that again," Alistair whispered into Adela's delicate ear, his breath hot against her flesh. She could feel him trembling against her, and she realized just how much she had frightened him with her rather impromptu dragon ride.

She had to admit, she was still terrified by what she had done.

Nodding, she whispered her agreement, planting a kiss to his cheek before gathering the will and the energy to pull herself from his strong embrace. She looked around carefully, taking note of the Sten limping toward them, bloody, battered, his armor bashed and in need of repair. Hafter braced his bulk against the giant's legs. Wynne, Niall and Leliana raced toward them, relief plainly etched upon their dirty, weary faces.

Her gaze finally rested upon the form that Flemeth had perished in: that of a high dragon. She frowned, standing there for many moments, wondering why the dragon form did not shift back into human. _A question for Morrigan, _the elf decided as she pushed herself to her feet, lending a hand down to her husband. Alistair grinned at the tiny hand, and placed his own large and warm paw over it before pushing himself up. Flushing slightly at the absurdity of her gesture, she turned, leading the group to the witch's hut.

It took her a moment, maybe less than, to pick the lock and open the hut to her searches. Morrigan had explained she needed Flemeth's true grimoire, and it would look similar to the one they had found back at the Circle tower. There were many books, several scrolls and other papers, and the elf was loathe to leave them behind for the darkspawn to destroy. So, she plundered the hut of all of its reading materials, finding the one that Morrigan wanted, tucking the tomes and parchments into her pack, determining to look them over later when they were at camp and far from the Wilds.

There were other items of interest found within the hut, and she let Alistair and the mages determine what was safe to take, and what would be best left behind. It did not take long to plunder the tiny hut of any valuables - and Adela had to wonder how Morrigan had managed to share such a tiny living space with someone as wicked and crazed as Flemeth - and soon the group, limping, worn and weary, but anxious to put as much distance between them and the hut, was heading back to their campsite.

Behind them, the great dragon's form shifted, air releasing from its great lungs, finally to dissipate into a great roiling column of dust, flesh and bone, a harsh, female voice chuckling into the distance.


	47. Chapter 47

_Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed: Nithu, Shakespira, mutive, Arsinoe de Blassenville, tgail73, CCBug, celtic-twinkie, Eriana10_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 47_

After dismantling their campsite, the group of stalwart adventurers continued on their path towards Ostagar. They continued to encounter small groups of darkspawn, but they were not as numerous as they had otherwise been prepared for.

Two days after their battle with Flemeth the party found themselves at the barricaded gates of Ostagar. Adela glanced around, recalling that this was the way she and Duncan had entered the ruins, knowing that the Tower of Ishal stood nearby. The Sten marched over to the barricade, Roland and Alistair in tow, and the trio of men studied the sturdy structure. After discussing the situation briefly, the three returned to the rest of the group.

"They have fortified the barricade with rubble and stone," the Sten remarked with a nod of approval. "I would suggest we seek out another avenue to enter the ruins."

Adela and Alistair frowned at each other as they turned their gaze about the ruins. Alistair advised that if they turned their course westerly, they should be able to enter the ruins by way of where the Grey Wardens had set up their main camp.

"We wanted to find any records Duncan may have left therein anyway," Adela replied, worrying slightly as the Warden camp had been closest to the battlefield.

"Then it's settled," Roland put in, hefting his pack to his shoulder as he bent to retrieve Adela's pack. He missed the slight glare Alistair shot his way as he straightened and handed it to the small elven woman. Adela accepted it with a smile, and then turned to pull her husband along. Startled, Alistair glanced down at her, offering her a small smile as he shifted his own pack and followed the group to the west.

An hour later found the group staring at another barricade, yet one not as heavily fortified as that by the Tower. Between the Sten, Alistair and Roland, an opening was created to allow for the group to pass through.

As they past beneath a ruined archway, the group spread out, alert and wary for any darkspawn that may have noticed their entry. Adela started to venture forward when Alistair stopped her with a well placed hand upon her arm. She raised a questioning brow to him as she paused.

"Don't you feel that?" he whispered, frowning at the ruined camp they were in.

A frown of her own upon her face, the elf turned about, staring at the area they found themselves in. There was a quick intake of breath as she recognized the site of the Grey Warden camp. So very close to the battlefield…but…

"I don't feel anything," she whispered back, confusion marring her features as she turned her face back to the human Warden.

Nodding, Alistair released her. "That's just it," he replied, straightening and leading the way toward the center of the campsite. "There should be something…but, I only sense a tingle of darkspawn." He stopped, staring around at the now alien landscape of what had once been so familiar to him. "There are darkspawn in Ostagar," he clarified as the others returned to their side. "Just not in the abundance we had expected."

Adela let out a sigh, pushing out with her senses, trying to sense what Alistair did. Her sense of the darkspawn had never been as acute as Alistair's, but now she could sense only the slightest of a tingling in the back of her mind. "So what does that mean?" she asked.

The shrug her husband gave her was answer enough. Six months longer as a Grey Warden had not given the young man any more insight to darkspawn behavior than her.

"Well," Adela remarked as she glanced at her companions, "let's see if we can find Duncan's tent. Perhaps he left behind something to help us with our mission."

"He had a chest in his tent," Alistair said as he led the way through the confusing mess of the ruined camp. "Let's hope that the darkspawn didn't find it…"

Less than thirty minutes later and they had found the remains of Duncan's tent. It had been centermost to the Grey Warden campsite. The canvas of the once sturdy construct lay in tatters, and the wooden framing of the near pavilion like structure was broken and twisted. Yet, within the interior of the tent still stood the cot the former Commander of the Grey as well as a trunk. Pawing through the debris, Alistair gave out a triumphant shout as he pulled a heavy chest made of red steel from the debris.

The chest was tightly locked with an intricate locking mechanism that none of the rogues had ever encountered. Zevran, admitting that he had far less talent with such things, stepped back as Leliana and Adela carefully examined the mechanism. Alistair and Roland stood beside the elf, keeping watch over the women as the other companions scoured the campsite for any supplies, equipment or saleable goods.

The two women conferred, with Adela peering into the lock, her sharp elven eyes searching out any clues as to how the thing worked. Bending near, she whispered her thoughts to the bard, who took a turn at the lock. With a nod, Leliana moved back, allowing Adela room and light with which to work. The Orlesian stood, advising the three men at their backs that it may take a while, but that Adela felt she had figured out the system.

Alistair nodded, glancing slightly to the smaller men at his side. Zevran's eyes were carefully scanning the area surrounding them, occasionally seeking out Niall's frumpy form amongst the debris. Roland, too, scanned the area, but his eyes always fell back to Adela's bent frame. The young warden knew that Roland would need a little time to get over the disappointment of Adela having married him, and Alistair knew that the former knight would never do anything to compromise his and Adela's relationship. However, there was that tiny niggle of…anger?…jealousy?…he found he could not quite identify how he felt toward the other man. A man who was perhaps his closest friend other than Adela herself. He shook himself from those thoughts as Roland's hand slapped down on his shoulder, and he informed the Grey Warden that he would scout around a bit. With a nod, he gave the recruit permission to leave, and then turned his attention back to surveying the surrounding area and watching as his wife worked Duncan's complex lock.

Pick in hand, another set carefully in the lock, Adela sat back on her haunches, glaring at the offending latch. As she bent back to her work, the others began to filter back to the spot, having managed to recover some supplies from the decimated camp.

Finally, Adela gave a slight crow of triumph as the mechanism clicked, releasing its hold upon the chest. Grinning at her, Alistair slipped down to his knees beside her, carefully pushing the lid upwards with a creak.

There, in the chest, were several items of personal value…a suit of black leather armor that Alistair had never seen Duncan wear…a strange, black bladed dagger…several books…Adela kept pawing through the items, handing them off to Alistair. Finally, she exposed the metal and wooden bottom to the chest. Grinning up at her other warden, she lightly rapped on the bottom, revealing a secret compartment skillfully hidden within the chest.

Carefully, her sensitive fingers brushed along the bottom, finally pausing as she felt the slightest of indentation that revealed a trapdoor. Reaching into her hair, she pulled out a flat piece of metal, then carefully began to pry at the indent she had found. Soon, the trapdoor became obvious to Alistair's eyes, and the girl pulled the metal and wood free, exposing bundles of papers, vellum and parchment there under.

"There we are," Adela whispered as she pulled the papers free of the confines of the chest, carefully tucking them into a waterproofed pouch. "We'll examine these later," she advised as she rose, securing fastening the pouch to her belt. "As much as I'd love to sit down now and look them over, we still have a few things to do here."

"Like find Duncan's body," Alistair agreed as he turned to walk from the tent.

"And Cailan's," Adela added as she followed the large human. "I'd also like to find his tent and locate his chest." Alistair turned, his brow raised. "There are…letters therein that I'd like to take. Plus, I recall his having Maric's blade with him."

"Maric's blade," Alistair whispered as he and Adela led their group from the Grey Warden campsite and towards where the Royal enclave had been set.

Adela glanced up at her husband…a son of Maric….and nodded. "The blade he found when he went into the Deep Roads with Rowan, Loghain and my mother." She sighed as she paused, gazing up at the walkway that led into the heart of the Ostagar. "I remember Maric showing it to me and telling me the story behind how he had found it as they sought a way to Gwaren."

Smiling down at his wife, Alistair found that the usual pang of regret and envy that normally assaulted him whenever Adela spoke of his father was not there. He now found it soothing whenever she gave him bits of information regarding his father. Although he would never know the man as anything other than a legend, having someone who had known him so close, to share bits and pieces of his history with him, had somewhat soothed any ill feelings he had toward the man.

With a smile to her husband, Adela turned the group towards where the battle had been lost.

DA:O

She kept her eyes ahead, studiously avoiding looking at the bodies of the deceased they passed by. Not that there were many. Just…body parts, scattered across the ground, in various states of decay. Beneath the snow that remained upon the ground, Adela could clearly see that the earth was blackened, both with Blight disease and old blood.

She made herself stop, rubbing a hand across her eyes, over her forehead and down her face. A glance up told her that Alistair was having much the same reaction as she. She could hear Wynne's whispered prayers behind them.

The nearer to the center of the battlefield, the more bodies they encountered. Most were little more than skeletons, few having been frozen in various positions of death. Thankfully, none could see their faces, as they were either rotted away or, blessedly, lying face down in the snow and dirt.

It was with an audible gasp that both Adela and Alistair stopped cold, eyes ahead, fixed upon the fully preserved body of an ogre.

The ogre both were certain had crushed the life from Cailan's body as he fought valiantly alongside Duncan against the darkspawn.

A heavy weight rested upon her shoulder, and she looked over to see Alistair's hand firmly placed there, squeezing her flesh beneath the tough leathern armor she wore. Her eyes roamed upwards, fixing up his pale face. She followed the trajectory of his eyes, wondering what he saw. They were fixed upon the ogre's body, to the weapons that jutted from its chest. A sword and dagger.

Alistair started forward at a lope, quickly increasing to a run. Cursing slightly, the elf shot off after him, remembering how often he would scold her for such a rash action.

The others followed at a ragged jog, eyes ever watchful, as they followed the pair of wardens.

He had stopped, staring bleakly at the weapons. When she pulled up beside him, she knew why he had taken off as he had.

The sword and dagger were well known to her. She had seen those weapons both at rest and in action.

Duncan's sword; Duncan's dagger.

A single, ragged sob escaped Alistair's lips, and she moved closer, wrapping her arm around his waist. An arm wrapped about her shoulders, pulling her close as he fought against the onslaught of sobs that threatened to escape.

Her eyes looked over the desolate, forbidding field, searching for the two men they had both hoped to find. As she pulled herself from his embrace, as the others neared them, she could feel an energy course through the air. As she opened her mouth to bring Alistair to the alert, the dead surrounding them let out a unified dry, anguished moan as they struggled to their feet.

Weapons out, Alistair fully alert as he searched the area for the spellcaster. His eyes settled upon the squat form of a genlock emissary, standing, grinning, beneath the battlements of the ruins. With a shout, the ex-templar sprinted off after the darkspawn mage as Adela and the others turned to deal with the undead that clawed from the ground, rusted, battered weapons in hand as they surged forward.

Alistair released his mana draining abilities upon the emissary, startled slightly that the creature, while drained of a great deal of its mana, managed to toss lightening at the former templar initiate before succumbing fully to the cleanse. With a roar, the young warden shook the spell off, his sword and shield raised as he stormed after the darkspawn mage.

She was in too close of quarters, and could not draw her bow. Pulling her daggers free, the elf ducked down, bending at the knees, spinning slightly with blades outstretched, slicing across the throats and chests of the undead the surrounded her. She heard Roland's war cry resound and took note of one of the skeletal undead fly past her. Still crouching, she side stepped, moving away from the blade of one corpse, slashing out with one dagger as she continued past. The thing's head flew off of it's bony neck, and the body crumbled down in a rattling pile of bone.

Spells crackled through the air as the four mages cast about them, entropy, primal and spirit spells felling their foes and rallying their allies. Morrigan transformed into the form of a great bear, the massive bear crushing several skeletons under her great mass.

The Sten's blade cut through those skeletons that surged upon him, trying to weigh the great giant down by their numbers. Roland smashed his foes down with shield and sword, and Adela spun about, searching out her husband, watching as the emissary tried, vainly, to avoid the punishment of the Templar turned Warden's blade and shield.

Leliana stood back from the group, just in front of the mages, her bow twanging out arrows, a foe felling to each missile. Zevran melted into and out of the surrounding shadows, slipping beneath the sweeping claws of the undead, cutting them down at the knees, beheading them easily.

The skeletons themselves offered no true skill from the companions. But they did threaten them with their numbers.

Numbers that would cease to grow once Alistair managed to incapacitate his opponent.

Adela's blade felled another skeleton, her breath coming to her in gasps as she straightened from her crouch. Her heart all but faltered as a groan escaped from the body of the ogre not far from where she had just felled the undead that had rose against her. As she turned, she watched, in dawning horror, as the thing stumbled to its feet, a great roar erupting from its wide mouth.

DA:O

Gathering his will, Alistair let loose with a smite, knocking the genlock mage off its feet and to its back upon the Blight-muddied ground. As his blade swept down to severe its grotesque head from its neck, the young Warden was knocked forward, a powerful electrical shock coursing through his body. Gasping, staggering slightly almost to one knee, he pushed himself up, and turned, to face another darkspawn mage.

This one appeared to be a genlock, but was larger, wielding a staff of dragon bone and silverite. A wide smile crossed its death mask of a face, and the former templar could feel the influx of magic as the strange darkspawn mage pulled into itself magical energies.

His will drained from the smite he had so recently cast, the warden pushed himself up, brandishing his sword and shield as he loped toward the mage, hoping to catch it with his sword before it could loose its spell. As his pace increased, he could feel the spell as it swept past him and beyond. He scowled, hoping whatever ill spell it had cast ran awry as he raised his blade.

DA:O

Smashing down the skeleton, the red haired warrior spun around, blade held ready, shield gripped tightly, as he surveyed the battlefield.

More undead continued to rise, groaning, from the fouled earth. A grimace crossed his handsome face as he smashed one frozen solid by one of Morrigan's spells, grim satisfaction as it shattered. These were once brave men and women of the Fereldan army and Grey Wardens. He grimaced as he recognized the griffon emblazoned upon one rusted breastplate, sweeping its barely attached head from its rotted neck.

He turned at the sound of the great roar, easily spotting Adela as she turned to face the rising corpse of the nearly preserved body of the ogre. With a curse, he sprinted ahead, arms pumping, as he raced to the elf's side.

DA:O

Gripping her daggers, the nimble elf ducked under the clumsy sweep of the ogre's arms. Its massive, horned head bent down, it gave out a great snort before suddenly rushing in a controlled forward bolt. Adela made certain she was not there for the brunt of the ram, stepping and twisting away, her arms tucked to her chest to avoid any contact with the rushing beast.

There was the sound of metal slamming against muscle and flesh, and Adela glanced over to see that Roland had engaged the risen ogre. The warden recruit's shield was raised, deflecting powerful blows from the ogre as his sword slashed and jabbed at the creature. The elven warden ducked in, her blades shooting out, seeking to hamstring the massive darkspawn. Tough skin and tendon deflected her blows, and she staggered back, scowling at the back of the creature's knees. She dodged forward, again, leading with both blades, seeking to slice into the tough flesh of the creature. A large foot kicked backwards, catching the small woman soundly in the shoulder, sending her spinning backward and to the ground, a cry escaping her as she landed upon her arm and shoulder, a loud snapping sound echoing in her ears. Intense pain shot through her arm, shoulder and traveled down her side. Fighting against the nausea that suddenly rose in her gut, she struggled to her side, grateful that Roland was managing to keep the creature at bay and busy with his blade and shield.

DA:O

The magical power of the darkspawn was immense, something Alistair had never experienced before nor heard of in darkspawn. When Duncan had recruited him into the wardens, he had insisted that his templar abilities would be put to good use against the darkspawn mages. And yet, he was finding putting this one down using those same abilities - which he had continued to use and hone despite no longer being a templar in the chantry's service - impossible.

The thing shrugged off a smite, and continued to cast spells through his cleansing aura. As he swept his blade out, the thing raised its staff, easily deflecting and redirecting his blow.

Growling in frustration the young man slammed his shield into its grinning face, smashing it backwards, yet it still managed to retain its footing.

He brought his shield back and slammed forward again, this time managing to knock the creature from its footing, slamming it to its back upon the ground. He raised his blade to sweep downward, but the darkspawn twisted away, rolling to its side and the leaping to its feet. As it raised its staff, arrows flew in, cracking against the magical shielding the darkspawn mage erected around itself.

Digging his feet in, Alistair launched himself forward, blade out, shield braced, to take down the creature. His shield connected with the magical shielding, and at that moment, he released his cleansing aura, catching the mage off balance. The shielding fell, and the emissary staggered back, a snarl upon its grotesque features. It thrust one hand forward, sending lightening arcing into the young man's body. Alistair stumbled back, struggling against the electricity that flowed and coursed over his body. Calling upon his templar training, he fought, and won, against the magic. As he straightened and prepared to again assault the darkspawn, Zevran appeared at his side, dashing forward, his blades dancing and weaving before the creature, nipping and slashing at the beast, keeping its attention fully upon the weaving elf and arrows that continued to speed to it.

Alistair risked a look over his shoulder, fully expecting to see Adela behind him. He was momentarily surprised that it was Leliana, and allowed his vision to travel slightly beyond the human bard. His heart nearly stopped as he watched his wife be kicked back by the massive foot of the risen ogre, Roland rushing forward to slam his shield into the giant creature's chest.

Grinding his teeth, the warden turned his attention back to the magic wielding darkspawn as more undead rose to accost his companions.

DA:O

Greatsword swept in deadly arcs. Skeletons and rotted corpses fell to each tremendous blow. With barely harried breath, the Sten stood amidst the fallen corpses, his lavender eyes scanning the battlefield.

Zevran and Leliana had joined the male warden's side, battling against the magic wielding darkspawn. He twisted his massive head, taking note of how easily the mages were decimating the waves of undead that crept along, sweeping into their midst.

He heard Adela's cry of pain, and turned to watch as the tiny elven woman was thrown to the ground, slamming hard upon her arm and shoulder. Cursing the woman her place, the giant warrior turned, his long legs carrying him quickly to Roland's side, as the human warrior battled against the ogre.

Roland turned his head slightly, giving the giant a slight nod of his head as he turned back to the ogre. The great beast rushed the pair, and the two warriors split, each flanking the beast as it swept past them in a rush. With his battle cry upon his lips, Roland's blade jabbed forward, and then slashed across the bare flesh of the ogre's side, cutting deeply, opening the wound wide. He was aghast to take note that no blood flowed the horrendous wound, a tribute, he was certain, to the creature's current undead state.

The Sten roared out to his homeland, taking his greatsword into both hands, twirling the blade momentarily over his head before sweeping it downward in a viciously powerful decent. The Qunari's height gave him an advantage against the ogre, and his blade bit deeply into the creature's shoulder, cutting down, nearly severing its arm from its shoulder. Snarling, the giant darkspawn turned its attention fully to its larger opponent. The Sten took his position, bracing his feet firmly to the ground, almost rooting himself to the spot. He held his blade vertical in both hands, awaiting the ogre's charge.

He saw this chance, and took it. Gathering his strength, Roland charged, leading with his shield, bashing it solidly in the back, forcing it forward with a greater, uncontrolled momentum. The Sten saw his chance, and charged forward himself, his blade raised as he launched himself from the ground, driving his blade downward, driving it into the creature's neck, down into its chest, and further still. Roland's sword found itself buried deeply into the undead darkspawn's back as the Sten's weight bore the thing back to the earth.

Roland dodged away, twisting to avoid the heavy body of the descending ogre. The Sten pulled his blade viscously to the side, opening the ogre's chest cavity, spewing forth the composed organs of the undead thing.

Gasping for breath, Roland trudged to the Sten's side, patting the giant upon the arm in congratulations. The Qunari warrior merely bowed his head slightly as the human then continued past him to see to Adela.

DA:O

A shudder passed through the emissary, visible to those who battled it, as the ogre fell. Its concentration faltered, and the magical shielding fell. The onslaught of Leliana's arrows pierced through the creature's armor, sticking from its chest. With a raucous grin, the genlock turned its attention to the bard, sending a streak of lightening upon her.

Crying out as the energy hit her, Leliana dropped her bow, falling to her knees as she gasped and struggled against the magic. Alistair sent a cleansing aura over the stricken woman, and she managed a weak smile as she struggled back to her feet.

Zevran slipped behind the emissary, his blades dancing and twirling, striking against the hardened leather of the darkspawn's armor, piercing and cutting through to the diseased flesh beneath. Snarling aloud, it turned to face the elf, oblivious to the descending warden sword that took its head from its scrawny neck.

As the body of the emissary fell to the ground, the undead that assailed the mages shuddered to a stop and then, with a unified groan, fell to the earth in heaps.

DA:O

"How is she?" Alistair asked anxiously, trying very hard to remain out of Wynne's way, but unable to let himself be too far from Adela's side. The elderly mage glanced up, shaking her white head at the young man.

"She's dislocated her shoulder," the mage replied as she sent another flush of magic through the elf's shoulder and arm. 'Niall managed to put it back into its place, and this should help alleviate any residual pain and discomfort."

"Adela?" Alistair asked as his wife sat, calm and quiet, as the elder mage worked her magic. Biting her lip against the pain, the elven woman merely nodded, watching Wynne's hands as they roamed over her shoulder and down her arm.

Very soon, the pain had ebbed and the elf was able to regain her feet. Her eyes turned to the body of the ogre and, without a word, she paced to the body, her eyes fixed upon the sword and dagger that had remained embedded in its chest.

"Those are Duncan's," Alistair breathed as he came up to her side. With a nod, the elf scrambled up the body, and pulled the weapons free. She struggled with the sword, holding the dagger in one hand as she grappled with the sword's hilt with the other. Scrambling back down, she held the blades to Alistair, watching as he hesitantly took the weapons that had belonged to the man who had been the closest thing to a father the young man had.

"You should keep them," Adela said after a few moments silence, her eyes fixed upon the weapons in her husband's hands.

But Alistair shook his head, holding the blades to her. "You are the Commander, Adela," he smiled softly at her. "These should be yours."

Sniggering, she took the dagger, but shook her head at the sword. "I shall proudly use the dagger, but that sword…it's far too large for me to wield." She chuckled. "I could barely carry it. You should use it, Alistair. I know…" her voice broke slightly here, burning tears at the back of her eyes. "I know Duncan would have wanted you to have it."

Eyes reverently fixed to the blade, Alistair reached over his shoulder, pulling free the blade he had used since Ostagar, dropping it to the ground. Carefully, he sheathed Duncan's sword. Taking his hand, Adela turned her attention from her husband and the ogre, her sharp elven eyes searching the debris field surrounding them. There…there was a flash of silver in the sunshine. She tugged Alistair's hand, then released it, as she set off at a jog to where she had seen the flash. Confused, Alistair took off after her, his long legs allowing him to catch up to her easy pace.

They both stopped at the site of the gleaming silver light. A ragged sob escaped Alistair's lips, and Adela reached over, gently placing her hand to his arm as she stared down at the tarnished armor that lay before them.

Not just armor, but the decimated body that the armor still lay clad to. Of the body itself, very little remained. Time, weather, Blight disease, crows and wolves had left little behind. However the dark hair that thinly covered the skull that yet remained, as well as the distinctive silverite armor and robes beneath clearly told who lay upon the Blighted ground before them.

"Duncan," Alistair whispered, going to his knees beside the body, a hand reaching out to lightly touch the dirty and tarnished shoulder guard of the armor. Adela remained, standing, by Alistair's side, a small hand reaching down to settle upon his shoulder. His head bowed, and the young man allowed the sob that raged in his throat a release. Tears running down her face, the elven woman knelt beside the man she loved, and wrapped her arm across his shoulder, allowing him to mourn the man.

The others remained silent and back, allowing the two wardens their grief. Wynne, who had known Duncan longer than any of them, brushed a wizened hand across her eyes, smiling as Niall placed an arm across her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. The Sten bowed his massive head as Leliana whispered a prayer to the dead from the Chant of Light. The others stood, silent, watching and listening.

After many minutes, Alistair raised his head, turning to look at his wife. "We must give him a proper funeral," he insisted. Adela had no intention of denying that to Duncan, and nodded, rising and turning, ordering that wood be brought forward to build a pyre for the former Commander of the Grey. Without a word, the others turned to do so as Adela knelt back beside Alistair.

DA:O

An hour later, and the group had built a pyre, now burning, with the remains of Duncan set upon them. Although his armor was still in good condition, both wardens had insisted that it go to the pyre with the man. Neither could bare the thought of using it or, worse yet, selling it to further fund their quest. What few sovereigns it would garner them was not worth the dishonor they felt would be perpetrated upon the man.

As the flames licked at the decimated body, Adela stood, staring, watching. Alistair stood, stock still, beside her, his tears already spent. When finally the body was nothing but ash, Wynne handed the young Commander of the Grey a vial. Nodding, the elf pushed Duncan's ashes into the vial, carefully and tightly capping it. Bowing her head, she said a silent prayer over the rest of Duncan's ashes, then turned away.

Now they would venture further into the ruins of Ostagar. They still had further business therein.

DA:O

They began to encounter darkspawn, mostly hurlocks, and a few emissaries as they encroached upon the ruin's center. They were made quick work of and they proceeded onwards, past the infirmary, past where the prisoners had been kept…

Adela's head swiveled slightly as she took in the quartermaster's stall. It was twisted, and the portable forge the quartermaster had brought with him had been altered into an obscene altar, decorated heinously with the head of a halla and several bones from humans and animals. Nearby, laying flat on his back, was the merchant whom had accosted the young elf upon her arrival at the ruins. Frowning, she left the group, walking past the frozen corpse, to the chest that stood by the altar. She lifted the lid, and pushed the contents around somewhat, finally finding the objects she sought. Lifting up the pieces of leather, she stared at them for a moment, before pocketing them into her pack. She ignored the stares of the others as she rejoined the group.

Blight wolves and other darkspawn fought them as they continued their trek deeper into Ostagar's heart. One overly large hurlock proved difficult in felling, but between Alistair and Roland it soon joined the other monsters in death. Adela walked over to the men as they stared down at the bloody corpse before them. Glancing down, she gave a gasp, seeing what the two had spied. Gingerly, she knelt down, prying from the creatures hands golden gauntlets. Rising, she stared, holding the pair in her hands. In a tremulous whisper, she said, "These were Cailan's…"

Both Warden and Recruit looked at each other, Alistair placing a hand to Adela's shoulder. Turning, she pushed the gauntlets into Alistair's chest. "Keep these," she instructed, scowling down at the hurlock corpse, giving it a kick. "Maybe we can find the rest…"

Frowning, staring down at the gauntlets he held in numb hands, Alistair nodded, then placed them into his pack. He raised his head, glancing around. Spying where Duncan's bonfire (as he and Adela had taken to calling it during their time at Ostagar) had been, knowing that the Royal Enclave stood not far, Alistair reached over and took Adela's hand, pulling her along. The others, taking note of the direction the wardens headed, followed.

They found Cailan's chest in the open, the king's pavilion having long since been torn and ripped away. It took Adela mere minutes to unlock the secrets contained therein.

Adela's eyes widened slightly as she pulled a carefully wrapped bundle from the dark interior of the sturdy chest. Straightening, she carefully unwrapped the long package, finally revealing a blade of dragon bone, the runes along the blade's length glowing with a faint bluish tinge at the touch of her hand. For several moments she stared at the blade, recalling the times she had spent at Maric's knee as he polished it, telling her the story behind its recovery. It was as much a connection to her past - her mother's history with Maric, Rowan and Loghain - as it was Alistair's. Smiling, she turned, presenting the blade to her husband.

Alistair stared at the magnificent longsword, reaching out slightly to touch it before recoiling back. What right had he to the blade? He wondered. But, Adela was offering it to him, ignoring Zevran's remark about how sexy the blade was, asking for it instead. The others chuckled slightly at the assassin's quip, but Alistair and Adela stood, silent, staring down at the blade.

"Take it," Adela whispered to her husband. But, he backed away, shaking his head, denying the gift.

"I can't," he replied, staring at the blade still. He raised his eyes to his wife's. "It was never meant for me." He gripped the sword - Duncan's sword - he currently held in his hand. "This one feels more like it belongs with me than that one ever would."

Adela blinked, frowning slightly at her stubborn husband. However, she would not argue with him, not now, not when they still had else they wished to do. With a nod, she handed the blade to Roland, asking him to hold it for now. Reverently, the knight took the blade, strapping it carefully to his pack.

Knowing that she and Alistair would need to have a talk later on, the elf turned and delved deeply into the chest. A feeling of triumph came over her as she pulled the bundle of letters Cailan had told her of. Without explanation, she placed these in the pouch with Duncan's papers, straightening as she surveyed the ruins.

The track of her eyes took her to the bridge…the one that led to the Tower of Ishal. She could see the further damage done it during the battle, when fiery pitch and massive boulders had been launched at the structure. Her eyes narrowed as her keen sight settled upon a figure, propped up against the back rail. Without a word, she stepped nearer the bridge's entry, pushing aside her first memories of Ostagar. The figure was human, of that she was certain. Ordering the others to follow, she set off in a sprint, her steps quickening as the figure ahead of her came into focus and recognizable.

With a sharp intake of breath, she stumbled to a halt, staring up at the face that had been so familiar to her as a child, the face of a trusted and beloved friend. As the others rushed to her, a sharp scolding word upon Alistair's lips, a single name escaped her lips.

"Cailan…"

DA:O

More darkspawn rose against them, and these were defeated, retrieving the rest of Cailan's armor. The victories had been numerous, but not without cost. Each of the companions bore wounds from each battle, and were bone weary by the time they managed to battle their way to where the king's corpse was strung up, naked, his flesh pierced by arrows and blades. Powerful magic had been used to preserve his body, and, were it not for the unnatural pallor of his skin, the obvious wounds, and the uncharacteristic expression of fear and loss so permanently etched into his features, Adela may have thought the man alive but unconscious. With a sob, she ordered the Sten and Roland to pull his body from where it was, crucified, upon the makeshift easel the darkspawn had strung him upon.

A pyre had been built, and his body laid to rest. The young elf fought against her memories of her friendship with the young king, tears rushing down her face as Alistair's arm pressed along her shoulders, pulling her against him to share her grief. Her grief…his…theirs. This day saw the rest of two people who had been important to them, in their own way. As with Duncan, Adela gathered some of Cailan's ashes into a vial, promising to present them to Anora when they defeated the Blight.

With a final look to the pyre, Adela led her companions from Ostagar, seeking their way through the Wilds, heading eastward to Orzammar.


	48. Chapter 48

_Thanks to everyone who has read, alerted and most especially reviewed!: Nithu, tgail73, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Biff McLaughlin, Shakespira, celtic-twinkie_

_Short chapter to get them out of the Wilds and on their way to Orzammar._

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 48_

They are all bone weary, emotionally drained, and still they walked, trekking through the Wilds, unable to bring themselves to camp for the eve, to replenish their strength and garner the rest they desperately need.

The more distance between them and Ostagar the better.

Adela felt it, too keenly, as she trudged alongside Alistair. They had put to rest their king, Cailan Rendorn Theirin, a man far too young, far too idealistic to have met his end by the hands of the darkspawn. He was a king who fought for his people, who challenged the general mindset of the nobility. One of Adela's oldest and dearest friends.

So, too, had they put to rest Duncan, Commander of the Grey Wardens of Fereldan. The tiny elf wished she had had the opportunity to have gotten to know him better. He had been a friend, of sorts, to her mother. Yet, she had never heard mention of him by her or her father. Only when conscripted had she learned, from the man's own lips, that he had known her mother.

Two vials, both filled with ashes…so little of both men, great in their own way, left. So small and weightless, and yet they seemed to overburden the young elf's pack, giving it greater weight than it truly had. For, although they had managed to find, for themselves, closure in discovering their bodies, and ensuring that no longer would either man endure further abuse at the hands of their sworn enemies, there was still so much to be done, in both their names.

Not for the first time since Ostagar did the elf feel as though it was far too much, that she could not handle the responsibility. It was all too large a scope for the small elf, whose sole desire in life not a year before had been to continue on with her art, to create, to bring joy and appreciation to those who saw her works.

To marry.

To have children.

To grow old within the confines of her Alienage, and die, her family around her.

Simple dreams. Dreams that now would never come true.

She was tired. She could tell. Self-pity seemed almost overwhelming, and she looked up, looking at the ragged face of her husband.

A smile crossed her lips then.

She had married.

Certainly, she and Alistair may never have children of their bodies, but, given how large a heart her husband had, they could adopt children who were orphaned by the Blight and war…pestilence and poverty.

She may not grow old. But she would grow older, and with Alistair beside her.

A small hand reached up, gently tracing over the worry lines and weariness etched too plainly in the handsome features of the man she loved. Amber eyes blinked, and then turned downward, brightening at the sight of the small elven woman, from whose eyes shown clearly the love she had for him. Alistair gave her a smile, the lines easing upon his face, as he reached down and pulled her into his side, planting a kiss upon the top of her head.

The duties may seem endless; weariness may overwhelm. But, Adela knew that they all had a mission - a quest - that was far too important, far larger than she, and that with these fine companions, with this wonderful man beside her, she knew that they would succeed.

For all of Fereldan, all of Thedas, may well depend upon them.

With a sigh, she pulled back from Alistair's comforting warmth, and reached to the pocket that held the vials containing what earthly remains of Cailan and Duncan remained, and pressed her hand upon it. The work of these two fine men would see completion.

DA:O

They had walked throughout the rest of the day, and well into the night. A great deal of distance had been placed between them and Ostagar and, given Wynne's request to rest for the rest of the night, the wardens called a halt to their march, ordering that camp be set. No one seemed overly eager at camping, still in the midst of the Wilds. Even Morrigan had voiced displeasure at the prospect. However, they could no longer continue onward, and needed at least a few hours respite. With a nod, the witch turned, pulling Artemis along with her, to set wards around the campsite.

Too weary to hunt, Adela pulled rations from their stores and sat upon a log the Sten had pulled up before the fire that he had blazing in the camp's center. Tents were posted, and everyone sat down to enjoy the dried meat, hardtack and sharp cheese that would be that evening's meal.

Alistair sat heavily beside his wife, watching as she dug into her pouch, pulling free some of the papers they had found in Duncan's chest. Her eyes squinted slightly as she examined one sheet of vellum.

"It's encrypted," she muttered, rubbing at her eyes. "And I am far too tired to try and decipher it."

Snickering at her, the young man pulled the paper from her fingers, staring at the encryption. The figures swam before his vision and he, too, had to admit easy defeat. Handing it back, he prompted her to replace it to her pouch. They would have time once they left the Wilds, once they had been properly rested, to examine Duncan and Cailan's papers.

There was a sound not far off into the bushes. Even as weary as they all were, everyone was on his or her feet, spells called forward, blades naked in hand, bows shouldered and notched. Sharp elven eyes alert, peering into the darkness, and yet she could discern nothing.

"Jumpy," Zevran muttered as he forced himself to relax his stance, sheathing both blades as he turned a circle. Tensely, everyone replaced their weapons.

Today had been difficult for them all.

"We should find our rest," Adela said as she placed her bow down upon the log, forcing her voice to sound easy. "We'll take shifts in threes. Leliana," She faced the bard. "you, the Sten and Artemis should take the first watch. Alistair, Niall and I shall take second, Roland, Zev and Morrigan third."

With a nod, Leliana, the Sten and Artemis set their watch sites as the others slipped into their tents.

"Second watch, eh?" Alistair quipped as he pulled himself into their tent, slipping his boots from his feet before rolling to their bedrolls.

"Sorry, love," Adela gave him a weary smile. "Second watch is difficult, and I felt we should take that one." She slipped her own boots free, tugging at her belt to slip her trousers from her legs.

Alistair watched with great appreciation the expanse of white leg his wife now showed. With a grin, he crawled over to her, hovering above her, smiling into her face.

"What do you think you're doing?" Adela asked as she smiled up into his face, her tone teasing.

"What? Can't I give my wife a kiss good night?" he asked innocently, pressing her back onto the bedroll as he settled himself around and beside her, wrapping his strong arms around her slight body, pulling her closer as he wrapped a leg about her hips.

Smirking at him, she turned slightly to face him fully. A small, tender hand traced over his features, her eyes following the path of her hand, taking in each line, each new scar, finally to settle at his lips. "Hmmm…that would be rather nice, my husband," she purred slightly.

Smiling into her face, Alistair settled closer, covering her lips with his own as his hand wandered over her body, to run lightly along her naked legs.

DA:O

The next day dawned bright, yet the sky remained gray. Even the few hours of rest the party had managed to garner was enough to help pick up their collective mood and pace. They had passed through the heart of the Wilds, and that knowledge helped to ease their scattered thoughts.

It was nearing the middle of the day when they found themselves surrounded by a party of Chasind warriors.

Dark skinned, wearing leather armor adorned with feathers, pieces of animal hide, and bark, the warriors appeared as barbaric as legends made them to be. Their leader, a large man with long black hair and keen black eyes, stepped forward, bidding them to follow. A look to Morrigan, who nodded, and Adela ordered their group to follow.

The hunting group led the companions through the outer edge of the Wilds, and to a small, temporary encampment just at the Wilds' borders. The leader, who had identified himself as Apumayta, led the group to where a large bonfire roared in the encampment's center. An elderly woman dressed in a simple dress of browns and greens, rose, her white head bobbing as she greeted the younger man. She then turned kind, brown eyes upon the group, those eyes settling upon Adela's weary and wary face.

"Welcome to our home, Grey Wardens," she intoned in a pleasantly soft voice. "I am Elder Tula. You are welcome within the Tribe of Hache hi."

Bowing at the waist, Adela replied. "We are honored to be welcome within your home, Elder."

Chuckling, the elderly woman moved with grace and swiftness that belied her obvious age. Clucking at Apumayta in their native language, she turned back to the elf as the young hunter barked orders to his hunters and led them away. "We did not bring you here without a purpose, young Warden," Tula remarked as she grasped Adela's arm, pulling her toward the fire.

"Why have we been made guests, Ancient One?" Morrigan asked as she moved forward, nearer to the Wardens.

Smiling, Tula replied, "Ah, young Witch, we are leaving the Wilds." She turned back to Adela. "The darkspawn threat has become too great for us, and so we must leave, heading further southward, away from the heart of the hoard."

"Away?" Adela asked, glancing around at the bustle as the tribesmen renewed their efforts at breaking down their camp. "Why not join our armies to battle the Blight?" The young Commander turned back to the elder, her face set and serious.

Tula watched the young elf, her dark eyes carrying within them a hint of calm understanding. Then a smile crossed her heavily lined face and she nodded. "Truth be told, young one, our warriors have been clambering to fight beside the Grey Wardens against the Blight. I have given permission for Apumayta and his hunters to offer their blades and bows to your cause. However," she turned Adela about, facing her toward the sole permanent structure in the encampment: a squat hut of brush and sticks, its doorway covered by a heavy blanket. "it was not for the purpose of offering our skills in battle that we brought you here for."

"Why then?" Adela asked as her companions were offered food and drink. She looked over at Alistair and gave him a nod of permission before turning back to their hostess.

"While our warriors will head northward toward the center of your people," Tula remarked, "the rest of our tribe shall continue southward. There is one, however, who is not of the People, and wishes to be reunited with his countrymen."

Her ears perked up, and Alistair stepped nearer. "Who is this man?" Adela asked quietly, wondering if any of the Grey Wardens had survived the disaster that had been Ostagar.

Clucking, Tula smirked, waving her hand to a young girl. After instructing her to bring their guest forward, she turned back. "He is one who had been out scouting with many of his men. Unfortunately, he had been the only one to survive. His wounds were egregious, and it has taken him many moons and much heart to regain his health and strength." The curtain to the hut opened and out stepped a tall man dressed in leathers similar to those worn by Apumayta. After scanning the area quickly with sharp, brown eyes, the man spied Tula and stepped toward the elder.

Dark hair was pulled back in a tight braid that hung below his shoulders. Sharp, angular features and a regal nose marked him as being from among the nobility. He appeared to be around Cailan's age, although it was difficult to tell by the number of scars that now lined his still handsome features. Adela noted a slight limp as he approached, but also took note of the hard muscles beneath the leather. Despite having been seriously injured, the man had obviously taken the time during his convalescence to regain not only his strength but fighting form.

The young man paused before the elf and Alistair, then turned toward the tribe's elder, bowing deeply before her.

"Elder Tula," he said, his voice calm and cultured, obviously educated.

"Lord Fergus?"

The man lifted his head, staring ahead as Roland walked toward the group, his pace quickening as he rushed to the young man's side.

"Ser Gilmore?" the man responded, his face lighting up with a wide smile as he straightened, clasping the younger man's forearm in a strong hand.

Tula chuckled. "I see you have a friend among them already, young Fergus," she clucked her approval.

"Indeed, indeed," Fergus remarked, turning back to Roland. "What brings you here?" The young man asked. "Why are you no longer at Highever?"

"Lord Fergus," Roland said, stepping nearer as his voice lowered. "These are Grey Wardens," he raised a hand to indicate Adela and Alistair. "This," he motioned toward the elf, "is the Warden Commander Adela, and this her second, Warden Alistair." He allowed small smile to cross his face. "I've been recruited into their ranks."

"Ah, so Father let you go, did he?" The young lord questioned. He did not miss the dark shadow that passed by Roland's green eyes. "What has happened?" he asked, fear constricting his chest.

With an utter look of hopelessness, Roland looked to Adela, who reached over and placed a gentle hand upon his arm.

"There is much to tell you, Fergus," the young warden recruit replied, raising his eyes to look directly into Fergus.

"Come, then," he said, nodding toward the hut from which he had recently emerged.

Roland turned pleading eyes to Adela. "Please, Adela, would you come, too?"

She opened her mouth to protest, certain he should speak with the other man alone. But, Roland shook his head. "I need you there."

With a look to Alistair, she nodded and followed the two to the hut.

DA:O

Alistair watched as Adela followed Roland and Fergus into the hut, fighting against the surge of jealousy that rose in his breast. Roland was about to tell this young man that his entire family - parents, wife, son - were dead, and here he was, standing there upset because Roland needed the support of his friend - Adela - in order to do so. Completely upset and disgusted with himself, the young warden turned to the others, trying to enjoy the food and drink that the Chasind of the Hache hi tribe provided.

About an hour later, Adela emerged from the hut, alone, her face sad and weary. Alistair pushed himself to his feet, frowning as the elf made her way to where their companions sat and rested. He could see unshed tears in her eyes, and as she wrapped her arms about his waist, he pulled her closer, enveloping her in his embrace, his head bent down to her head.

"He lost everything…everyone he ever knew and loved," Adela whispered into Alistair's armored chest, a slight sob shaking her small body. The large man went down to his knees, allowing his wife to wrap her arms about his neck and bury her face into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Brushing his hand down her hair and back, Alistair made comforting shushing sounds as he held her.

"I don't know what I would ever do," she cried, tightening her hold about him. "I know that what we do is dangerous, and either of us could die at any time. But," she pulled away, tears running down her face, Alistair's thumb brushing them away. "I could not bare it if I lost you."

A soft smile crossed his face, and Alistair pulled her close again. "Shush, love. If it's ever in my power, I promise you will never be alone."

"Ha," she said mirthlessly. "You aren't all powerful, you know, my big strong warden."

Shaking his head, he replied. "Maybe not. But I would never willingly leave your side." He pushed her away so that he could look her directly in the eye. "If ever we are parted, know that I love you, will always love you, and that it was not a separation by choice."

Tears still streaming down her face, Adela nodded, brushing a shaking hand across her eyes. "I'm being foolish, aren't I?" she said in a querulous voice.

Chuckling slightly, her husband shook his head. "No, love. With everything we've gone through, with everything we're still facing…no. Not foolish at all."

Nodding, laughing slightly with embarrassment and pained relief, she pulled away, rubbing her hands across her eyes and face. "He wishes to accompany us," she said after a few moments, her eyes straying to the hut wherein Fergus and Roland remained, talking. "He understands our mission, and that our next destination is Orzammar." She shrugged, turning her attention back to Alistair. "He wants to help, and he is skilled. So…"

"So, we've another warrior to add to our group," Alistair finished, appreciating the extra sword, pleased with the decision.

"We'll need to find him armor and a sword," Adela remarked. "He fights with a greatsword." Her eyes wandered to where they had piled their supplies, going to the packs that contained their extra armaments.

"We need to restock," Alistair remarked with a frown.

Adela nodded her head. "I know. We're very low on extra armaments. Do we even have a greatsword he can use?"

He did a quick mental inventory and then nodded. "Yes. I believe it's one we had acquired from Castle Cousland. And, we have an extra set of plate mail that should fit the man as well."

Nodding, she frowned, thoughtful. "The Sten will need another set, too. But, he is too large for any that we have."

"There are no better smiths than the dwarves at Orzammar," Alistair remarked, turning back to his wife.

"Well, let's hope his armor holds together until we can get there," she answered, straightening. "It's going to be difficult for Fergus," she said. "He is technically the Teyrn of Highever. However, Maker knows what Howe has done or said in the interim. We should try and keep his survival a secret for as long as possible."

"Right," Alistair said, frowning. "Now we've a royal bastard and a noble to keep quiet about." He grinned at Adela's unamused expression. "Add to that all of the Grey Warden secrets, and we are a group awash in mystery."

Snorting, with a shake of her head, Adela turned to get something to eat and drink.


	49. Chapter 49

_Thanks to everyone who continues to alert and favorite this story! And, to those who read and review, my most humblest of thanks!: Nithu, mutive, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Biff McLaughlin, Eriana10, tgail73, Superstar Kid, CCBug, celtic-twinkie, Zeeji, Shakespira_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 49_

The weather held, and they managed to find their way through the Wilds with little obstacles, making good time and even traveling as far into the night as they could, eager as they were to put distance between them and the Blighted wilder lands. Once beyond the borders of the Wilds and well on their way into the Frostback Mountains, they still encountered their share of bandits and bounty hunters, yet surprisingly few darkspawn.

At night, Adela and Alistair would devote much of their time to deciphering the encrypted papers found in Duncan's chest. Fortunately, Duncan had the foresight to have begun tutoring Alistair in the Wardens' encryption codes, and it was a simply matter for the young man to teach the same to his very literate wife. Many of the papers were letters, exchanges between Duncan and the First Warden at Weisshaupt, and some of the more personal kind. Many were to and from a woman stationed at Weisshaupt by the name of Fiona. These letters, personal in nature that they were, were set aside. Both young wardens felt it an unnecessary intrusion upon their former commander's privacy.

Fergus Cousland had settled into the routine of the group easily enough. Several days journey from the Wilds found the group reunited with Bodahn Feddic and his rather eccentric son, Sandal and they had managed to outfit the young noble from his stores. After Roland made introductions of the dwarven merchant with Adela and Alistair, it was decided that the merchant, who just so happened was heading to Orzammar himself, would travel along with the group. Elated at having such skilled warriors help to defend his wagon, the dwarf offered his goods at a greatly reduced discount, even offering to carry the larger, heavier supplies that the Sten, Roland and Alistair always seemed stuck with carrying. The two humans breathed a sigh of relief as they packed the tents and spare equipment into the roomy confines of the wagon. Whether the Sten was relieved it was difficult to say.

It was the night prior to their arrival to Orzammar's front gates that the piece of information that both wardens had been desperate to find finally lay in Adela's hands. Her eyes wide, she read and re-read the heavily encrypted vellum, then, without a word, handed it off to Alistair for him to read.

His eyes widened as hers had, and then a wide grin split his face.

"The joining," he very nearly shouted as he waved the paper. Roland, who was nearby sparring with Fergus, lifted his head, his eyes turning to search out where Artemis stood, helping Morrigan with poultices and potions.

Both Warden Recruits knew the significance of the find. And, with a nod to each other and a silent word to the ones they were currently engaged with, the two stepped to where their senior wardens now stood, re-reading the vellum.

"We will be able to perform a joining ceremony?" Roland asked as he stepped to Adela's side. The elf's eyes were, yet again, skimming over the information. This was something - the most important thing - that she and Alistair had been hoping to recover since the fall at Ostagar. To be able to put recruits through the joining…to rebuild the warden numbers to fight against this Blight. Now, they could. If they could find the ingredients necessary.

"This may be difficult to come across," she said as she pointed out the list of ingredients required for the joining. Roland and Artemis bent their heads to the paper, but were unable to read the encryption. Alistair's face scrunched up in a frown. The lyrium and darkspawn blood would be easy to acquire. The Archdemon blood?

"Where will we find Archdemon blood?" Alistair quietly asked, aware that the others in their camp were watching the four wardens.

Adela stepped away, her eyes fixed upon the paper, biting at her lower lip in thought. "Maybe we missed something at the warehouse," she said as she turned toward the three men. "Or maybe we need to find a way into the Denerim compound."

"Easier said than done," Alistair quipped, frowning.

All Adela could do was shrug her shoulders as she stepped back to the three men. "At least now we know how to perform the joining. And Wynne had created the concoction before, so we have the advantage of an experienced mage."

With a sigh, she rolled the vellum up, putting it into her side pouch. "At least we now know how to perform the ritual," she stated as she lifted her head, forcing a smile upon her face. "That is one step closer than we were this morning."

Nodding, the others agreed as they turned back to the tasks they were engaged in prior to the revelation. Adela looked up into Alistair's face, noting that it was wrinkled in thought. A slight frown formed between her brows, and she stepped nearer.

"What is it, Alistair?" she asked as she set a small hand upon his arm.

Shrugging, Alistair replied, "I'm just trying to remember something Duncan had told me when I first joined." He turned around, facing westerly, the direction of Orzammar. "I may be mistaken, but I think that the Wardens have a compound in Orzammar."

"You're just remembering this now?" a blond brow twitched, not with irritation but amusement.

Chuckling in his usual self-deprecating way, Alistair shrugged. "Yeah, well, had a lot of things on my mind. And, Duncan didn't so much as tell me as mentioned it to another warden, and I just so happened to be in the vicinity."

"You were eavesdropping," the elf countered with a chuckle.

"What can I say?" The human warden asked as he tugged his wife against his chest, smiling into her hair. "I wanted to learn as much about the wardens as I could, and Duncan was being rather close lipped about it."

With a sigh, she snuggled deeper against him, enjoying the warmth that always seemed to emanate from him. "Well, with luck, there is a compound, a fully stocked compound."

"And then we'll have doubled our ranks," Alistair finished, the kissed the top of her blond head.

DA:O

Adela was surprised to note that, camped outside the vast stone doors that allowed entry into the fabled dwarven city, were several dwarven merchants, all hawking their wares or, in the case of many, simply sitting, balefully glaring at those impressive great doors.

Bodahn and Sandal went off to find their spot outside the door, carefully weaving their wagon through the throng. The others separated for a time, each seeking out the goods the various vendors offered.

Her eyes swept over the scene, settling upon the lone human merchant. Her eyes settled upon what appeared to be Qunari made weapons and arms and, recalling the Sten's description of his first encounter with darkspawn, just at Lake Calenhad, the elf stepped to the stall, curious as to how he had found these items.

It did not take long or very much coercion for the merchant to relate how he had come upon a battle site and the corpses of several bronze skinned giants. Adela questioned him about a large, two handed sword and the merchant blithely admitted to selling it in Redcliffe.

To the dwarven merchant Dwyn.

Certain that she was on the track to recovering the Sten's sword, she handed the merchant a sovereign, thanking him for his time, and then turned to rejoin her group.

Together once more, having made their purchases ( Adela noticed that the Sten was happily munching cookies), the group made their way to the heavily guarded double doors that led into the grand dwarven city.

The Captain of the Guard stood there, glaring at the human who stood before him, berating, scowling and threatening the dwarven man to allow him entry. With exaggerated patience, the guard advised the man that none were allowed within Orzammar.

Adela paused, her eyes shifting to the doors and back to the guard. The dwarf, obviously irritated and no longer wishing to give the man before him any more of his time, turned to the elven woman.

"Atrast vala, stranger," he greeted, his tone even as he fought against his irritation with the human. "Orzammar's gates are closed off to all but her own."

Adela nodded, pulling free from her pouch the treaty for the dwarves. Handing this over, she said, "I am Warden Commander Adela Tabris. These treaties," she waved a hand to the ancient vellum the guard now held and was reading with interest. "Obligate the dwarves to assist the Wardens during a Blight."

"A Blight?" the guard asked as he continued to ignore the man, who was now glaring at Adela and her group. The dwarf raised his eyes to stare into Adela's, who merely nodded as he handed the paperwork back.

"These are traitors to the throne and Fereldan!" the man beside them seethed, his hand twitching over the hilt of his still sheathed sword. "I demand that you execute this…this stain upon the earth!"

Mouth twitching, the dwarf turned back to the human. "You dare speak so to a Grey Warden?" he took a step closer, and the two guards at his back pulled their blades half way from their sheathes in a show of force and support for the Wardens.

Taken aback by the dwarves enmity, the man stumbled back, bumping into the mage who stood behind him. "I am the personal messenger of King Loghain!" he screeched. "I shall not be treated in such a manner!"

"I'll treat ye to the bottom of me boot, ye lickspittle," the Captain growled at the human. "Be gone from the front of the gates. Else I'll set upon ye the guards."

Glowering at the dwarves, and then at Adela and her crew, the 'personal messenger' had little choice but to obey.

A wide grin upon his face, the Captain turned back to Adela. "Been awaiting an excuse to do that for some time now. Be welcome, Grey Wardens, into the halls of Orzammar. I am uncertain what aid will be for ye, but you and yours are always welcome."

With a bow of her head, Adela thanked the guard and led the group through the huge doors and into the entry level of Orzammar.

DA:O

The first thing about entering deeper into Orzammar that struck Adela was the oppressive atmosphere of the place. The deeper under ground they went, the more she felt the very weight of the earth and stone around them.

The second thing she noticed was how very well lit the entirety of the place was. Rune encrusted torch sconces lined the great stone walls; tall lampposts stood at each avenue; each doorway was lit brightly by the magical lamps.

Apparently, the dwarva did not like the darkness better than any surface race.

There was a confrontation almost as soon as the group stepped into the commons of Orzammar: two dwarven nobles. The companions glanced uneasily at one another as they watched one of the commons' guards get struck down by one of the nobles' bodyguards.

"It would seem that the dwarves are lawless," the Sten intoned as they watched the blood pool under the body of the guard.

"So it would seem," MOrrigan replied coolly, her yellow eyes scanning over the area.

One guard, after ordering the body's removal, turned, spotting the group of strangers in their midst. Scowling fiercely at the companions, he stalked over, anger heavy in each step.

"Veata," he narrowed his small eyes at the group, coming up to stand directly in front of Adela. "I had heard that Grey Wardens had been allowed beyond the borders. While I do not approve of allowing strangers to witness our disarray, I cannot prevent your entry."

"What is happening?" Adela asked quietly and with great respect in her voice.

The guard seemed somewhat appeased by her graciousness. "King Endrin returned to the stone not three weeks ago. Distraught over the death of his elder son, and betrayal of his daughter." The guard stepped nearer. "You can find more news at the local taverns, inns and on any street corner."

Nodding, her eyes skimmed over the area. "Could you perhaps give us directions?" The dwarf studied her a moment as her eyes settled back upon his craggy face, and he nodded for her to continue. "I understand we have a compound within your city…"

The dwarf chuckled, nodding his head. "Indeed, Warden, you do. You shall find it located in the Diamond Quarter, the nobles' district." He swept a heavily muscled arm to the westerly end of the commons, where a great door stood, well guarded. "You would also do well to introduce yourselves at the Assembly Hall, again, in the Diamond Quarters, before your presence become too widely known."

Thanking him, Adela led the others in search of the Assembly Hall and then, later, their compound.

DA:O

Adela could not believe her ears. Not only would the Assembly not hear her, but the two nobles within Orzammar who may be able to offer her assistance were adamant that she prove her loyalties before they would even deign to speak with her! It was outrageous, and the elf found herself more than a little insulted.

She now stood before Dulin Forender, Lord Pyral Harrowmont's proclaimed second, astonished when he had suggested that she enter the dwarven Provings in order to, well, prove her loyalty to Lord Harrowmont.

Adela glared at the dwarven warrior who stood before her. "I am a Grey Warden," she said between clenched teeth. "We have no loyalties to offer. We fight the darkspawn, wherever they may crop up."

She took a step closer to Harrowmont's second, and he took that step back, glaring straight into the elf's eyes. "In the Deep Roads, upon the surface. Our sole purpose is to battle the darkspawn and either prevent or end Blights."

A finger raised, pointing into his face, and then the surrounding area. By this time, a respectable crowd had formed, and the elf was fully aware that the second of Bhelan had stepped from the Assembly chambers and was now watching. She turned to include him in her glare. "You are a race dying. Yet you kill each other in the streets, and cannot even gather the courage to meet each other face to face in your own Assembly to select a king! These treaties," she pulled them free from their pouch, raising them above her head. She now circled, taking the crowd in, addressing her words for all to hear. "These treaties obligate the dwarven race - not just your king - to aid the Grey Wardens in their continued battle against Blights! Once a Blight decimates the surface, its poison will come to you!" She pointed to a pair of women standing off to the side, and they visibly flinched. "Your kingdom is sandwiched between the ever present darkspawn and their taint from the Deep Roads and a Blight riddled surface." her blue eyes settled upon Dulin Forender and then Vartag Gavorn, Prince Bhelan Aeducan's second - an unsavory man she had the displeasure of speaking with earlier in the Hall - who both flinched at their intensity. "Just how long do you think your race has once a Blight has fully erupted upon the surface? I would think that the threat of death of your entire race would be worthy to overlook the petty bickering of who gets to set his ass upon your throne for a mere few months while all the world crumbles under a Blight!"

The two dwarven men were now sheepishly glaring at the Warden Commander, astounded at her audacity. The crowd that surrounded them slowly and carefully erupted into cheers and clapping, shouts for the Assembly to finally end their foolish filibustering and get to the business of leading them. Behind her, Alistair stared at his wife in open amazement, while the others nodded their approval, some grinning, others watching the crowd carefully. Fergus settled back on his heels, his arms crossed, a hand to his chin, as he studied the tiny elven woman in their center.

A dwarven warrior stepped forward, his green eyes glaring at the surrounding nobles who had now exited the assembly to witness the spectacle of a tiny elven woman rallying their people to end the Blight.

A grin of utter approval split his craggy face, and he offered up a rude gesture to the man who was Harrowmont's second.

Steward Bandelor stepped to Adela's side, and she could see he was trying hard to keep the smirk that threatened from his features. With a glance to the assembled nobles, who, after a mere moments pause, nodded to the Steward, he turned back to the main candidates' seconds.

"Tell your masters," he said in his deep, calm voice, "That the Assembly calls for a vote. There is a Blight that must be stopped, and we can no longer afford this political wrangling." His hard gaze swept from one face to another. The seconds glared at each other for a moment, and then offered the Steward a quick, curt nod before stomping off to collect their Lords.

Turning to Adela, Bandelor quietly said, "I appreciate your assistance in this, Commander," he said respectfully with a bow. The nobles had turned and re-entered the Assembly. "I do have a proposal for you, however."

Quirking an eyebrow, Adela waved her hand for the man to continue. Clearing his throat, he started, "While your words and the truth of a Blight have moved many to action, I have no doubt that we will still be days, if not weeks, away from any form of settlement." He noted Adela's frustrated sigh, and hurried on. "Bhelan is the logical, hereditary choice, however, it is well accepted that King Endrin had wanted Harrowmont upon the throne. It all falls down to whomever the Assembly votes for. We need someone of higher position, perhaps on par to a King, to make the final decision."

Oghren, the red haired warrior, made no effort to hide the face he was eavesdropping and so choose to butt in. "You need a Paragon, Warden. And I just happen to know where there is one."

Bandelor sighed, but nodded his gray and white head. "Oghren has the truth of it." He looked Adela straight in the eye. "Many believe that Branka yet lives, even after all of this time in the Deep Roads. If you could find her, bring her back, and offer to back one of our candidates…"

A great sigh escaped Adela. She truly had no desire to go into the Deep Roads, despite her earlier words. The very idea of going deeper into the earth terrified her. She had found Orzammar, even the higher tiered nobles' quarters, stressful. She longed for the sunlight and fresh air, to get away from the oppressive stone of the underground city. However, as much as she wanted to just tell the dwarves they and their unnatural city could crumble and burn, she knew the Steward was correct. And who better to fight against a Blight than the dwarves, whose very existence depended upon keeping the darkspawn at bay?

"Very well, Steward," she conceded. "Oghren here says he knows where she is. I'll need a map of the Deep Roads…"

"I believe I can assist you there, Commander," a cultured, quiet male voice rumbled behind her. She turned to spy a dwarven male of elder years, his white hair pulled back in a tight braid, his clothing marking him as a noble. He had a kind, wise face, and piercing blue eyes. She noted the Dulin Forender stood behind the man, and she correctly guessed that this was Lord Harrowmont.

Bowing respectfully, she said, "Lord Harrowmont. It is an honor. Now, how can you assist us?"

"First," he stepped forward, offering his hand. "I must apologize for even the thought that you would not be trustworthy. Every dwarf worth his stone knows that a Grey Warden's first and ultimate duty is to end Blights. We," he waved his hand to include himself, his second and the city itself. "momentarily forgot that Grey Wardens, of all who dwell upon the surface, understand all too well the dangers of the darkspawn."

A blond brow quirked every so slightly. She could hear the sincerity in his words, but was certain this was merely more political wrangling. Regardless, the man had said he could help. "This assistance you have offered?" she prompted.

With a small smile, the dwarf reached into his surcoat, pulling forth a rolled parchment. "This," he said as he unrolled it, holding it between his hands and moving to show the elf the map. "is a map to Caridin's Cross. This is where we believe Branka may have started her search."

"Search?" the elf asked, glancing back at Oghren, whose eyes were fixed upon the map.

"Caridin's Cross! By my Ancestors' tits! I never thought I'd live to see the day!"

"Oghren…"

"Yeah, yeah. Keep yer britches on, girlie." He grinned at Adela, showing he meant no offense. "Branka went off in search of the Anvil of the Void."

"And while a worthy quest, one that cost our city it's sole living Paragon," Harrowmont gently admonished. Oghren snorted his agreement.

Glancing down at the proffered map, Adela then looked back at Oghren. "Okay, then. I guess that we're off to the Deep Roads to find ourselves a missing Paragon."

Bandelor and Harrowmont exchanged looks, and then the Steward stepped forward. "May the stone guide you, Commander. It seems as though as much as you need our help, we need your assistance even more."

DA:O

Adela had asked that Oghren report to them the next morning at the gates to the Grey Warden compound. They had searched through the storerooms at the compound, and, much to the relief of the Wardens, found all of the required ingredients for a joining.

That evening they would see to the joining of Roland and Artemis.

Nervousness assailed her as Adela recalled her own joining. Wynne was off, preparing the concoction that Roland and Artemis would ingest, and that left her and Alistair to wait in the great, circular chamber that served as the joining room. Everyone else had been assigned rooms and were enjoying the comforts afforded therein, included personal baths and comfortable beds.

Niall stepped into the room, his dark eyes searching Adela out. The elf felt her heart nearly stop as the mage calmly walked toward her.

"I wish to join," the mage said quietly, a small smile upon his wide mouth.

Alistair stopped his pacing, staring at the mage. Niall's magic was potent, and he had mastered many spells in various schools. His quick mind had proven an asset to their group time and again, and his easy, shy manner made him friends with everyone. He would be an asset to the Grey Wardens, but Adela had a moment of doubt regarding his survival.

However, he had asked, and they had an obligation to rebuild the Warden ranks. She hated the pragmatic part of being the Commander of the Grey in Fereldan, but knew it was necessary at times.

"Does Zev know?" the elven woman asked, watching as Niall nodded his dark head, that smile still in place.

"He may not be…exceptionally happy about the prospect. But, he knows and he supports my decision."

Taking a deep breath, Adela glanced over at her husband. Alistair stood, staring at the mage for many moments, then turned his attention to his wife. Giving her a nod, he let her know he supported the idea.

"Very well, Niall," Adela rubbed a hand along his upper arm. "Alistair will advise Wynne…"

"Wynne already knows," the mage said sheepishly, trying to appear contrite at the widening of Adela's eyes.

Shaking her head slowly at the mage, she smiled. "Remember the chain of command, Niall," she gently scolded the mage. Smirking, the former Circle Mage nodded, and then left the chamber.


	50. Chapter 50

_My thanks continue to go out to those who alert, favorite, or simply lurk. But, my most heartfelt thanks go to those who take the time to review! Each review a writer receives helps to encourage the story along and discourage those nasty little writer blockades!_

_Shakespira, Nithu, mutive, CCBug, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Biff McLaughlin (you really should read these authors' stories - they are awesome!), tgail73 (as faithful reviewer as ever there was one!)...as always, my thanks!_

_Ah, now the Deep Roads. I skipped over the insignificant parts as I am not going canon (as you may have figured out by now). And, even doing so, Orzammar is going to be at least another chapter._

_I hate the Deep Roads. And, Adela does, too…_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 50_

"_We bear a sacred burden. For an age, we have protected the lands of men. Now, a Blight is upon us and we dare not falter. Regardless of race, station in life, mage or warrior. The best must take up our banner to save us all from annihilation." _

Adela clenched her hands, trying to steady them, trying to keep them from trembling as the words Duncan had spoken at her own joining came forward.

"_We Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. And so it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered it's taint." _

She took the chalice from Wynne and, with a nod, dismissed the elderly mage from the chamber. Staring down into the black, vile contents of the chalice, she turned, walking over to Roland.

"_This is the source of our power, and our victory."_

DA:O

Alistair watched as Adela accepted the chalice from Wynne, noticed how she tried to keep her hands from shaking as she turned with it clenched in her tiny hands, her knuckles white with the strain of maintaining a calm air.

"_Join us, brothers and sisters."_

When he had intoned those words at Adela's joining, it had been easier. Although he had immediately liked the pretty elven woman from the first time they met, she had still been little more than a stranger to him. Now…he turned to watch his companions. Men he had fought beside; men who had placed their own lives in jeopardy to defend him and the others that traveled with them. He glanced over at Roland, who was watching Adela with complete faith, loyalty and adoration shining in his green eyes. Alistair should have felt a pang of jealousy or annoyance, as he had during their travel here. However, now, all he felt was concern for one he saw as a brother…one of his closest friends.

"_Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant."_

He turned and watched Niall, his intelligent brown eyes fixed upon Adela's tiny form. The mage had become an important part to their little group, his knowledge and skill saving them time and again, helping them to understand Adela's strange communion with the Fade.

"_Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn."_

Finally, he turned to Artemis, the tiny, beautiful elf who watched Adela with open admiration in his soft blue eyes. Alistair almost snorted with amusement as the flirtatious little elf noticed the ex-templar's attention and turned, batting his long eyelashes at the handsome human, a flirty, mischievous smirk upon his full lips before turning his attention back to the other elf.

Green, brown and blue eyes were fixed upon the Commander of the Grey's tiny form as she handed the chalice off to Roland.

"_And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you."_

Before, the words were just words, accepting and acknowledging the sacrifice those about to partake of the joining would make. Now, however, they meant so much more. For these men were already his brothers, if not by blood, then by spirit. He then noticed his own hands trembled as Roland glanced down into the chalice, a look of mortification crossing his handsome features. Alistair winced as his hand, almost of its own accord, strayed near the hilt of his sword.

"_And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you."_

If any of them balked, could he take their lives, to secure the secrets of the Grey Wardens and the joining?

"_And should you perish..."_

Could he cut down a man who was his friend, a man who had placed himself before him during battle, stood over his prone form as he struggled back to his feet?…

His hand relaxed, moving from his weapon as Roland gave Adela a small smile, and brought he chalice to his lips.

"…_perish…"_

DA:O

It was with heavy hearts and a somber mood that the companions met up with Oghren the following morning. A shadow had fallen upon the group, and the wardens found it difficult to shake.

One of their own had perished during the joining ritual, and they could not speak of it with those companions who were not Wardens, other than to acknowledge the loss.

Distraught, Adela had spent the night in Alistair's arms, sobbing at the loss of their friend. Artemis Surana, former elven mage of the Circle of Fereldan, had fallen during the joining, choking on the vile ichor that had rendered the other two men unconscious. Both of them knew that anyone could die during the joining. Although he mourned the loss of the young, energetic and talented mage, Alistair could not squelch the relief that came upon him that Roland and Niall had survived. As much as they liked Artemis, he had been through so much more with the other two men, and the thought of loosing either of them was too weighty for the young warden to comprehend or emotionally deal with.

They had placed the small elven man's body into a chamber of the compound, Niall and Wynne casting powerful preservation spells upon the corpse. They could not perform a funeral in the tradition of the dwarves - casting it into the lava. No. They would bring him back to the surface, back to the sunlight and fresh air the young mage had only recently discovered, and found great joy in. There, they would perform a combination of Fereldan and Dalish funeral rites: set him upon a pyre and burn the tainted body, then bury the purified ashes within the soil, planting a tree over his remains. To the two senior wardens, nothing could be more appropriate.

The senior warden - _Second _- glanced over to where Niall stood, shoulder to shoulder with Roland, somber expressions upon each of their faces. As the former knight lifted his head, Alistair turned his attention back to his wife, who was now speaking with the red-haired and bearded dwarf.

DA:O

Roland frowned, feeling the tainted blood course through his system, and he could not help but glance over at Adela. The thought that the tiny elven woman had endured her own joining was hurtful to the young former knight, that the small, almost pure seeming young woman had taken the taint of the vile darkspawn into her. He found himself glaring over at Alistair, as though it had somehow been his fault that Adela had suffered through such an ordeal. He knew that the young warden had nothing to do with Adela's joining, and he was also aware that had she not joined the wardens she would be dead - or worse, confined to Fort Drakon. But, in the absence of Duncan, Roland settled for glaring over at Alistair.

DA:O

Because of how tainted the Deep Roads were, Adela insisted that most of their non-Warden companions remain behind. She feared their becoming tainted just by being present in the Deep Roads. Alistair and Roland both agreed with her.

Fergus remained behind in Orzammar, attending the Assembly as a representative of the Wardens and the Fereldan nobility. His own training as a Teyrn would make him the best logical choice for keeping track of how the assembly moved toward resolution of their king.

Wynne had protested being left behind, but finally acquiesced in the face of Adela's strong insistence. After all, Niall was now a warden, and nearly as proficient at healing as she was. The elder mage appeased her own dissatisfaction by making certain that they had plenty of healing poultices, potions and such stashed away in their packs, offering the young Commander a tight hug and pat upon her back before pulling away.

Leliana and Zevran were both extremely unhappy at the prospect of being left behind, especially where Morrigan was accompanying the group. The Wardens had, at first, argued against her inclusion with the group, but the witch insisted that one of the many tokens she wore around her neck had been specially crafted by her mother to prevent her becoming tainted. She felt that the magic was strong enough to protect her in the Deep Roads.

The Sten, too, was accompanying them, believing that his stronger constitution would help preserve him against becoming ill. Adela knew better than to argue with the taciturn giant, and so ordered him to the back of the line. With a nod, the stoic giant took his position, greatsword naked in hand.

And so, with a truncated group once again, Adela and crew met up with Oghren just at the Warden compound gates, and set out to the Deep Roads, in search of Orzammar's sole living Paragon.

DA:O

The Deep Roads were, well, deep. Far beneath the lower levels of the great dwarven city, and Adela could feel each and every foot, every layer of heavy stone, granite and dirt that lay overhead, ready to crush those unfortunate to traverse the intricate and ruined dwarven highway. She shook herself, turning her gaze ahead.

They had been in the Deep Roads for near a week now, had battled many groups of darkspawn - including one tough ogre - and Oghren had seen signs that denoted the passage of his wife, Branka. During their travel, Adela had engaged the conversational if not lascivious dwarf, finding out about his wife, his house, and why she was obsessed with finding this Anvil of the Void. For the most part, Oghren answered her questions, advising her that Branka had become a paragon for the invention of a smokeless fuel which cut down cases and deaths from the infamous Black Lung. So being declared a paragon, the former smith caste woman was granted her own house, a standing of noble, and a voice in the Assembly.

According to Oghren, Branka had hated it, however, and became more and more obsessed with the destruction of the darkspawn. In her obsession, she had gathered her house and took them all into the Deep Roads two years prior, leaving only Oghren and the youngest ones behind.

While curious, the young elf did not ask the dwarf, who took several swigs of a foul smelling liquor with each part of the tale he told, why his wife would leave him behind without a word.

Nor would Oghren offer. He would indulge in the drink, cast poorly veiled innuendo at Morrigan, and offer critique for Alistair's bedroom antics with the 'little woman'. Truly, he was far worse than Zevran could be on his best days.

Following the map that Harrowmont had given them, after only a few wrong turns down more recently dug tunnels, they found Caridin's Cross. Oghren's green eyes widened as he moved to examine the stone walls, grinning widely as he rejoined the group, words that Branka and her crew had passed this way. He left the group briefly to follow the markings the Paragon had left, motioning them to follow along as he led them through and to Ortan Thaig.

"Ew! Spider guts!" Adela exclaimed as, her face wrinkled in deep grimace of disgust, she wiped the ichor from her blades upon the bloated corpse of one of the deep dwelling spiders - creatures the size of a large mabari - that the elf managed to kill. She looked around, noting that her companions had all managed to slay the onslaught of spiders and, although scraped, scratched and, as in the case of Oghren, slightly poisoned, they all stood, returning to where the elven warden stood.

They found themselves in what had once been Ortan Thaig's main square. Dwellings carved from the stone stood as silent reminders of the life that once reigned here.

Or still did, if the blighted form of the little dwarven man - little more than a boy - was any indication.

So they had followed the young dwarf, to his dwelling - a cave at the back of the Thaig, a fire pit, shelter and debris laying scattered across the floor. Glowing lichen dotted the walls, revealing several areas where fire pits had been dug. Oghren gave a curse, scowling at the carvings that littered the area. Branka and her house had definitely made use of the cave at one point.

The young dwarf, Ruck, was put out, at first, by the intrusion to his dwelling. However, the tainted youth could sense the taint within the wardens that stood before him, and he found himself pleasantly diverted by Adela, answering her questions with almost childlike glee. He was dying, of that they were certain, having ingested the flesh of the darkspawn to keep alive. The young elf found it disturbingly ironic that the thing that kept the young dwarf alive these past years would, ultimately, be the death of him. That he had not become a ghoul astounded the young warden, but he was dying, far quicker and in far more pain than he would truly let on.

She found she could not simply walk away and leave the poor young man here. This was no true existence - that in between place of life and death, of times when mostly his mind wandered, unaware fully of what was happening around him. Taking a breath, she carefully unsheathed a dagger, driving it home into his heart. Behind her, she could hear the startled gasps of her companions, however, as he slid from her blade, Ruck grabbed her hand, and she gently lowered him to the stone. As his eyes settled closed, a great breath left his body.

"Thank you…"

With a bow of her head, the elf turned, unable to meet the eyes of her friends as she led them from the cave.

DA:O

Three days later found them at the Dead Trenches, having found a cache left behind by Branka at the outer edges of the Ortan Thaig, advising any that found it they continued on to the City of the Dead. Oghren advised that would be Bownammar, the Dead Trenches, where the Legion of the Dead would more than likely be stationed.

Now they stood, upon the decayed ruins of a great spanning bridge, once a major part of the highway that had been the Deep Roads. Below, a great river of lava flowed, the heat rising, bringing sweat and moisture to the skin of the companions, the heat causing the companions' hair to dance and float along the currents. Along the banks of the fiery river stood a hoard of darkspawn - hurlocks, genlocks, ogres, shrieks - but none paid any attention to the intruders just overhead. Their focus was upon a great figure, slithering along the bank parallel, it's great, serpentine form soaking in the heat from the river of lava.

Alistair and Adela took a great breath as they realized what the figure below was.

The others stumbled back, fearfully clinging to the stone as the junior wardens fought against the flight urge that threatened to take over. Forcing themselves to their feet, the four wardens stood, watching as the Archdemon gave court to its followers, its worshipers. Thousands upon thousands, stretching beyond where the eye could see. The count was staggering.

The two senior wardens looked at each other, words unnecessary.

For they had found where the Archdemon was keeping itself.

The great train of darkspawn spread out far beyond their sight, and Adela suddenly understood why they had encountered so few of them upon the surface.

The Archdemon was leading them beneath the surface, gathering its forces as it went.

Tugging on Alistair's arm, the elf led the others away. As tempting as it would be to engage the Archdemon now, it would be a battle they could not win. Too many of the darkspawn were by its side. And they were still too few.

As much as it pained the wardens to do so, they turned and left behind the Archdemon as it continued to gather its own army, as they continued to gather theirs.

DA:O

It was at the Dead Trenches when they first encountered the Legion of the Dead. The Legion, a group of unhoused dwarves, those who had lost their honor, those born amongst the casteless, served all of the dwarven nations, battling against the darkspawn as a means to regain their honor. They were already dead in the eyes of their kith and kin; their lives redeemed by their deaths.

The Legion was battling their own hoard of darkspawn, a mixture of genlock, hurlock and shriek. A true representation of the vast hoard the companions had seen at the lava river. With their warriors each shouting out their own war cries, Adela led the companions to the aid of the Legion.

The shear number of the darkspawn was overwhelming, but none of the companions nor of the Legion fell to the blade, axe or spell of the vile creatures. One dwarf, his face a mass of bold tattoos, led the charge over the bridge connecting the Trenches to Bownammar, the Grey Wardens and their group racing alongside, finally overtaking the dwarves as they barged their way through the line of genlock archers and hurlock warriors, the dwarves engaging the lone ogre as the surfacers brought down the other darkspawn.

Hours later, ragged and tired, the Legion led their surprising allies back to their camp. After a brief discussion, Adela learned from Commander Kardol, the Legion's leader, that what they had suspected was true: despite a Blight coming to the surface, the numbers of darkspawn below the earth had not diminished. While there were areas along the Deep Roads that were empty of the twisted creatures, others had more than previously encountered. Kardol's supposition: that the blighted monsters were making a pilgrimage, converging to where a known exit to the surface existed: somewhere in Gwaren.

That brought Adela up, recalling the tale that Maric had told her as a child of his own journey, with Rowan, Loghain and Adaia at his side, led by a bard, into the Deep Roads. The exit had been in Gwaren.

After they had talked, eaten and rested, Adela and her crew were ready to venture further into the Deep Roads. Kardol thought they were foolish, seeking out a Paragon who obviously perished years before. But, Adela was insistent, stating that they had to at least try. After a moment's thought, the dwarven leader took careful study of the resolute young elf standing before him.

"Wait here," he said in his surprisingly quiet tones. Shouldering his way through the Legionnaires who sat and stood nearby, he disappeared into one of the shelters surrounding their campsite. A few minutes later, he emerged, followed closely behind by a beautiful dwarven woman, dressed in a suit of impressive dwarven dragon bone plate. An unmarked shield hung upon her back, a sword and dagger sheathed at her hips. Sharp, intelligent hazel eyes scanned over the surfacers, and she raised a hand to quickly brush away a stray lock of red-blond hair. As her eyes settled upon Adela, she gave a slight smile and nod, quickly following after the Legion's commander.

As the pretty dwarven lady steps into their circle, Kardol moved to introduce her to the others. It was Oghren, however, that beat the commander to the punch.

"Lady Aeducan?" The fiery red head quipped incredulously, rising quickly to his feet, sketching a hasty bow as he approached the younger dwarf.

Lady Aeducan watched as Oghren neared, allowing the tiniest of smiles to cross her full lips. "Well, well, well," she said in a quiet, cultured, well educated voice, her eyes twinkling with amusement and recognition. "Oghren. What, may I ask, are you doing here in the Deep Roads?"

"Same's could be asked of yerself, Lady," he said, smirking at her before his tone of voice and posture turned more serious. "I thought ye were dead."

The smile vanished from Lady Aeducan's face, and she nodded, sadly. "And I would have perished, were it not for Kardol and these fine men who serve the Legion."

"Always dutiful and loyal to the throne, my lady," Kardol said as he bowed deeply.

Lady Aeducan merely rolled her large eyes. "Harrowmont sent me into the Roads, but had a cache of weapons, armor and supplies hidden for me just beyond the great doors." She smiled. "Had it not been for him, initially, I would have died long before meeting up with the Legion."

"Always knew the old man was a soft touch," Oghren muttered.

Adela and the others listened, following along with the conversation. At a pause, Adela spoke. "Pardon me," all eyes turned to her and she flushed slightly. "Aeducan. Are you, perhaps, related to Bhelan?"

Those hazel eyes, before twinkling, merry and friendly, hardened as agates at the sound of Bhelan's name. "Aye." Lady Aeducan replied, her smile gone, her face hard as stone. "He is my younger brother. It was by his hand that my elder brother, Trian, died, I framed for his murder. That is how I ended up here and not on the throne."

"You were in contention for the throne?" the elf asked, confused.

"After Trian, yes," the dwarven woman nodded. "Not that I truly wanted it. I was happy leading my father's armies, and would have continued to do so for my brother. Bhelan, however, craved the throne. And he knew that Trian and I both stood in his way."

"So he went and killed Trian and framed Lady Aeducan here," Oghren put in, a gnarled hand to his chin. "Then he manages to kill yer da, and now fights Harrowmont over the throne."

The Aeducan noblewoman frowned, but nodded. "I wish I could have had a final farewell to my father." There was such a note of sadness and regret in her voice that Oghren took a step closer, awkwardly patting the noble upon her shoulder.

Kardol nodded, turning back to Adela. "The Dead Trenches are no place for the Lady Aeducan." He said with a sidelong glance to said lady, who was frowning slightly at the man. Obviously, the pair had had arguments regarding this previously. "I would ask, Grey Warden, that you take the Lady with you, and when you leave the Deep Roads, take her to the surface. We have contacts thereupon, and she should manage to find allies there."

"You just want me alive to later try and retake the throne," Lady Aeducan accused the Legionnaire, but there was no heat or anger in her voice. The dwarven Commander merely chuckled, shaking his head in denial.

Adela watched the dwarven woman closely. She was obviously comfortable in the heavy armor she wore, and the blades at her hips hung with ease. There was a commanding presence about her, and the elf wondered - briefly - how well the dwarven noble would take orders coming from an elf. After a few moments consideration, the elf nodded her head, adding another to their party.

"We are heading deeper in the Roads at this time," she advised, giving the dwarf an opportunity to back out. But instead, the noble's eyes narrowed slightly, and her jaw clenched with determination.

"I understand you seek out Branka," the noble replied. "A worthy goal. I think she is dead, but that is only common sense that allows such thoughts. Knowing Branka, common sense has little to do with anything," she gave Oghren a sidelong glance, and the male dwarf snorted out a laugh. "If anyone can live for two years without an army at her back in the Deep Rpads, it could well be that taciturn ogre of a wife of yours."

"Yer've the right of it, Serena!" Oghren chortled, almost - _almost _- slapping the dwarven royal upon her shoulder, pulling up short just before he could completely offend the woman. But Serena merely chuckled, shaking her head.

"I will gather my things," she advised as she slipped from the group, smirking at the red haired dwarf.

DA:O

Exhausted, bloody, frustrated and frightened, Adela leaned heavily against the uneven stone wall, glaring balefully at the seemingly endless twisting tunnel system that had been the dwarven highway.

They have fought countless darkspawn, picked each other from the ground more times than she could count, and still they trudged along, Oghren's rusty voice every now and again proclaiming evidence of Branka's passing.

Had it not been for these signs, Adela would have turned her not-so-merry gang back to Orzammar a week before.

Two weeks. Two solid, unending weeks in the ever darkening, more oppressive Deep Roads. The elf hoped that their return journey would not take so long.

The thought of a hot bath ran through her head, and she had to suppress a near hysterical giggle as she recalled another time, bloody, exhausted, covered head to foot with filth, when a bath had been the most important thing in the world to her.

It just seemed too, too long ago.

Alistair slipped to the ground beside her, leaning his head slightly against her side. Letting out a slow, deliberate breath, she slid down the wall, seated now, as she leaned her weight against that of her husband.

"This is taking far too long," she quipped, the exhaustion in her voice too difficult to disguise. Alistair nodded, lifting his head to gaze around at their companions. Even the dwarves seemed exhausted beyond words and ready to just leave.

The had fought through darkspawn warriors, rogues and emissaries. The undead, unsurprisingly, walked the bowels of the under earthen tunnels. Angry spirits and thundering ogres blocked their paths at each turn.

Surely, the Deep Roads were as haunted by its past as it was by the corruption of the darkspawn.

Alistair reached into his pack, pulling forth his water canteen, offering it to Adela. Gratefully, she accepted it, tilting it to spill its contents down her throat. At least they had found plenty of fresh water springs, bubbling up from deeper into the earth, and the little monsters Oghren identified as deepstalkers were surprisingly tasty. That thought did nothing to ease the elf's nerves as she handed the canteen back.

It was then that she heard it. Unmistakable if faint and uneven. Frowning, Adela stood, garnering a look of confusion from each of her fellows. There, she was certain. Without a word, she stepped through the center of their makeshift campsite, stepping several yards away, her blond head tilted as she continued to listen.

There, again.

A woman's voice.

She frowned at the sound of it. But was unable to make out what she was chanting.

"There's someone else down here," she whispered to her companions, who had, by now, rose to their feet, picking up their packs and supplies, readying to traverse further into the dark reaches of the tunnel system.

"Are you certain of that?" Roland asked, shouldering his pack, as he watched her with concern on his face.

She shrugged. "As certain as I can be now that we've wasted two weeks in these blasted tunnels." A small, dirty hand waved down the corridor. "We're heading in that direction anyhow."

With those words, she turned, and began to pace down the corridor.

With barely a look to each other, her companions gave a collective shrug, and followed.

DA:O

_"First day, they come and catch everyone."_

Adela paused, staring around the tunnel, glancing up at the ceiling that is very close. Turning, she saw that her companions were as surprised by the clarity of the words as was she and then they continued on.

"_Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat."_

Around another corner, and large fleshy sacks appear along the walls and at the corners. With a grimace, the elf continued to lead her companions on, determined to find the source of the mysterious voice.

"_Third day, the men are all gnawed on again."_

The voice, tired, anguished sounding, got louder, fading with the final word.

"_Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate."_

This time the voice had a monotone quality, almost resigned, bored. A shiver shot up Adela's spine, yet they continued.

"_Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn."_

This time an almost breathless quality came over the voice.

"_Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams. _

"_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew. _

"_Eighth day, we hated as she is violated."_

Now the voice, quickening each stanza, sounded almost as though the owner was sobbing. Adela glanced back at Oghren and Serena, curious if either recognized the voice. A shake of each head tells her they do not.

"_Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin._

_Now she does feast, as she's become the beast." _

There was a pause, and a door stood open before them. Taking a deep breath, Adela led her group into the vast chamber. Spying a dwarven woman, hunched over one of the fleshy sacks, appearing as though eating.

"Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams."

The dwarven woman completed her poem, then turned to face the newcomers.

It was obvious the woman was tainted. Adela crept nearer, Alistair by her side. The dwarf stood, impassive, watching the approach of the elf and human. She seemed almost…amused by the concept of an elf in the Deep Roads, but allowed Adela to examine her.

Her answers to their questions were incoherent. But, they managed to obtain enough information. Branka was, indeed, nearby. The darkspawn had taken the women, killed the men. Of the entire house, only she - Hespith - another woman, Laryn, and Branka remained. Where they were, no one could get a coherent answer from Hespith.

As Adela tried to push for answers, Hespith gave a cry, turning and running from the chamber.

"Nuttier than a fruit cake," Oghren muttered, scowling at the retreating back of the woman who admitted to being Branka's lover. "That thrice be-damned, moss licking…"

"Oghren," Serena gave the dwarven male a scalding look, and he, surprisingly, quieted down.

Glancing around the chamber, finding nothing but body parts and fleshy sacks, Adela led the group, hoping to follow Hespith's trail.

DA:O

"She became obsessed, that is the word but it is not strong enough. Blessed Stone, there was nothing left in her but the Anvil. We tried to escape, but they found us. They took us all, turned us. The men, they kill... they're merciful. But the women, they want. They want to touch, to mold, to change until you are filled with them. They took Laryn. They made her eat the others, our friends. She tore off her husband's face and drank his blood. And while she ate, she grew. She swelled and turned gray and she smelled like them. They remade her in their image. Then she made more of them."

There was a pause as the group rounded the corner, stunned by the sight that lay within.

"Broodmother."

DA:O

The _thing _that stood against the far wall was…more than disgusting, far more than disturbing. In so many ways, what was worse about it to the elven warden was how familiar it was.

The monster towered over the Sten, dwarfing his huge frame. Rolls of fat bulged along its formless shape, layers of breasts undulating in a most obscene manner with each movement the creature made. Tentacles wavered and undulated in the air, and Adela could see where they originated from the thing's body, could see where they had burrowed into the hard stone, anchoring the heavy body in place. The rear of the creature disappeared into the stone behind it. The shape of the creature, the way it anchored itself into the wall and floor, the pulsating of its hind quarters reminded Adela very much of a queen bee her mother had taken her to study as a child.

It's face - feminine, grotesque, _dwarven _- scowled at the newcomers, a ragged hissing roar issuing from its fleshy lips.

And suddenly, Hespith's insane litany made sense; it came together quickly, viscously in the elf's sharp mind, and she staggered, gagging as the realization of what they faced became more grotesque to her than the form it took.

Broodmother.

The thing was once a woman - a dwarven woman - this Laryn Hespith had spoken of.

The litany made perfect sense; Hespith had described how the darkspawn changed a woman to create more of them.

She glanced to where Morrigan stood, momentarily transfixed by the obscene bulk just ahead of them. As the witch collected her wits, she began to cast about her buffing spells and hexes.

Adela was more than pleased that she had left Wynne and Leliana behind. A feeling of intense guilt settled upon her as she realized that she should have left Morrigan behind. A glance to Serena showed the elf that the dwarven noble was equally dismayed by the sight before her, and another wave of guilt settled over her. They brought her here. They could have left her with the Legion.

For while death was never welcome nor pleasant, the thought that, as women, something far worse awaited them at the hands of the darkspawn was truly terrifying to the young woman.

She shook herself from her terror as Alistair, Roland, Oghren and the Sten issued forth their battle cries, rushing forward to destroy the thing before them. They, too, had seen the obscenity for what it was, and, from their haste, sought to end it's - _her _- life as quickly as possible.

It would be such an act of mercy to do so.

Serena, having collected her wits, gave out a great battle cry, pulling her helmet over her head, arming her shield. With another shout, the dwarven noble shot into the fray, her longsword slashing and jabbing, seeking to penetrate the tough, flabby hide of the creature who had once been a woman.

A tingling shot through her body, and she offered Niall a grateful smile for the rejuvenating spell he cast upon her. Shaking herself, she pulled her bow from her shoulder, quickly notching an arrow, letting it fly into the beast's face.

The thing - the Broodmother - _Laryn_, screamed out in insane fury, spitting acidic poison at the men that harried her - _it_.

A tentacle swept out, knocking Roland from his feet, sending him flying through the air. He clattered to the stone ground noisily, but was up on his feet in an instance, apparently unharmed from his sail through the air. Now Adela wished she had taken Zev with them, for the assassin had an uncanny ability of getting behind their targets and score damage. From her distance, the elf continued to let fly arrows, berating her cowardice to drop her bow, pick up her daggers, and get behind the thing.

Fear kept her feet rooted; fear kept her arm constantly pulling back the bowstring to let loose yet another missile.

Morrigan and Niall continued to assail the beast with spells, hexes, primal, Niall taking time to send healing and rejuvenating spells over his companions.

A cry of pain echoed in Adela's numbing mind, and she glanced over to see Alistair down, trying vainly to keep from being skewered by one of the tentacles that lashed and poked at him. Pulling a flame runed arrow from her quiver, the elf notched it, sending it flying at the appendage that sought to harm her husband. It hit, digging deeply into the fleshy appendage, igniting immediately, sending flames dancing down its length, and into the hole it erupted from.

The Broodmother screamed its agony, twisting, seeking to escape the swords that jabbed at her, the spells that burned, froze, and otherwise harmed her, the arrows that bit into her flesh.

Adela then shouldered her bow, unsheathed her daggers, and melted into the shadows, slipping around the walls, watching as Alistair regained his footing, steadied his stance, and shot forward yet again to end this.

Each step was fear filled as she watched as the tentacles slowly faltered, wavering, either laying severed upon the bloodied floor or falling back into the holes they erupted from. Taking a deep breath, the elf raced along the curving walls, getting behind the bulky form. Studying the form, she realized she needed to go up, get to the creature's face, blind her - it - perhaps. She realized quickly that the great rolls of fat would make excellent hand holds, and she hoped that the pair of tiny arms protruding from the massive body would be unable to reach behind. Sheathing her daggers, she grimaced as she gripped onto the squishy flesh. Another breath, and she began to pull herself upwards, toeing onto the rolls, to keep her balance.

The Broodmother was weakening, and a shrill scream issued from its lips. Genlocks began to appear from the shadows and side tunnels, those that emerged from the cavern behind the Broodmother naked as the day they were born (Adela shuddered at that thought as she continued to pull herself up the bulk), attacking the companions who sought to destroy their reproductive creature.

The body shuddered, and Adela gripped tighter, halting her upward climb as the Sten's greatsword cut deeply into the creature's stomach, Alistair and Roland each slamming their shields in what had once been Laryn. Resting her forehead upon her hands, she took another steadying breath, and resumed her climb.

DA:O

Serena skipped away from one tentacle, growling as she slashed at it with her sword, holding her shield up to deflect its weakening blows. The dwarven noble glanced over to see that Oghren was fully engaged with a trio of genlocks, his great axe sweeping many aside, the mages standing back, casting spells at the other darkspawn that had emerged. Her growl deepened into a great war cry, and the former High Commander pulled her blade back, whipping it out with all of her strength, severing the battered tentacle, sending the upper portion flopping to the ground as the rest slid back down the hole. With one graceful move, she pivoted on her heels and spun around to race to her fellow dwarf's side.

DA:O

Her hand slipped as the flesh became slippery with blood and other fluids. Grimacing, she pulled a dagger from its sheath and then plunged it deeply into the shoulder of the once-woman. The Broodmother screeched out in pain, twisting and jostling, trying to dislodge the stubborn elf. Adela held on with one hand, dragging her second dagger free and plunging that into the opposite shoulder. As the Broodmother thrashed, she held on, kicking her feet deeper into the folds of flesh, anxious to keep from falling.

DA:O

Morrigan growled with frustration as she froze solid several genlocks that threatened her and Niall. As the darkspawn froze, Niall let loose a great fist of stone, shattering the five or so genlocks before them. He fumbled into his pocket, pulling forth a vial of glowing blue liquid and quickly quaffed it down, turning to cast healing and rejuvenation spells upon the Sten, who stumbled back, bloodied and battered, from the massive bulk of the Broodmother. With a glance to his side, noticing how pale Morrigan appeared, he pulled free another vial and handed it to his apostate counterpart, who accepted it with a grateful smile.

DA:O

Her arms were now trembling with the effort of her climb and of holding on. Unable to move upwards for fear of falling, she did the only thing she could think of.

She gave each of her daggers a vicious twist, digging them deeper into the jiggling flesh of the Broodmother.

Shrieking renewed, louder and more piercing with each twist, each dig of those daggers, Duncan's dagger doing even more damage that her mother's. Chanting, "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" she continued to twist and press the daggers deeper, all while maintaining her foot hold and her grip upon her weapons as blood spewed forth from the deepening wounds.

DA:O

Alistair stepped back, glaring at the offending mound of flesh before him. The creature was weakened greatly, near to death, of that he was certain. He avoided looking into its face, as it so resembled a young dwarven woman, reminding him of what she had once been.

He took a deep, steadying breath and recalled his templar training. As much as he may have hated the idea of being cooped up in a tower for the rest of his life, the training he had received was second to none. Calm now, his shaking subsided, he took his sword up, raising his shield. With his war cry "For the Grey Wardens!" he plunged ahead, pushing off the solid, stone ground, flying at the beast with his sword held out. As he connected with the bulk, he plunged his blade downwards, driving it into the creature's chest, splitting through bone, seeking the heart that had to reside somewhere in there. He raised his shield, mindful of the acidic spittle the thing could launch, and dug his blade deeper, clinging to it as it strove to shake him off.

DA:O

She saw her husband launch himself at the abomination, and nearly cried out. Choking back her concern, she twisted a blade again, but this time her hand slipped in the blood that continued to spit from the wound. With a cry, her body twisted away, losing the footing on her right side. Her other hand, desperately gripping Duncan's dagger, twisted around the hilt, and that, too, slipped. With a cry, she slipped down the back of the creature, but the thing twisted in its final throes, launching the young elf away from its great bulk, and toward where a group of genlocks stood. With a sharp smack, her head connected with the stone ground, causing her to loose consciousness for a moment.

DA:O

Alistair clung on, driving his sword deeper. He heard Adela's cry, but could not set his eyes upon her. Below him, he heard Roland shout and he twisted to see the young warden race to the prone figure of his elven wife.

But he could not release his hold on his sword, not yet. He closed his eyes, certain his friend would get to Adela's side before she was further harmed. With greater determination he yanked on his sword, pulling it down, further between the naked breasts of the creature, slicing through bone, flesh, muscle and finally, into its heart. With a shuddering sigh, the great mass immediately relaxed, slumping down, unable to fall over.

DA:O

He saw her fall. Fear ripped through him as he saw her fall in the midst of the genlock group - naked as they emerged from the rear chamber - that took note of the elven woman before them. Giving out a great shout, the former knight finished off the genlock he had been battling, and spun about to race to her side.

DA:O

The Sten had seen her fall. The tiny figure of the elf that had him questioning a person's place in the cosmos, someone who was teaching him that people were far more than their duties. Lopping the heads from the genlocks before him, he turned, sweeping his blade in great arcs, cleaving those genlocks that remained around him in twain as he marched to his commander's side.

DA:O

Alistair was on his feet and running as soon as he dismounted from the Broodmother. He cut down all darkspawn that rose before him. He noted distantly that there were no more genlocks, only the few that swarmed around Adela. She was moving, struggling to her feet, pushing away from the darkspawn as Roland closed the gap, his sword slashing the naked genlocks down. The Sten arrived as Roland felled the last darkspawn.

Alistair fell to his knees beside her, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I thought I told you…" he gently chided as he pushed her back, quickly checking her over for injuries. Other than a large knot on the back of her head, she seemed fine. Morrigan and Niall stepped nearer, the male mage casting healing spells at the elf.

DA:O

Laying upon the floor, she pushed Alistair's hands from her. Adela sat up, clutched at her head, grimacing at the blood and gore and other fluids that she lay upon. She looked up, up at the sound of Hespith's whispering voice.

"That's where they come from. That's why they hate us... that's why they need us. That's why they take us... that's why they feed us. But the true abomination... is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed. Branka…" her voice fell into a whisper. "my love…" Strength anew came to her and she stood straighter, staring down where Adela lay. "The Stone has punished me, dream friend. I am dying of something worse than death."

Tears fell from her silvered eyes, unseeing as she turned her gaze inward to the past, of the hurt she felt, of the future she would face.

"Betrayal."

With these final words, Hespith offered Adela and her companions a final salute, then turned, throwing herself into the abyss at the back of the cavern.


	51. Chapter 51

_Ah, my thanks, as always, for the continuing stream of alerts and favorites that keep popping up for the story. Thank you! And, my special thanks to those who read and take the time to review: Arsinoe de Blassenville, Superstar Kid, Shakespira, CCBug, Nithu, tgail73, zevgirl, Bdub (hello! Hello!), TropicalFool (who sent me a wonderful PM - I just discovered TF's FF, you should check it out!)_

_Oh! I don't own anything, except for Adela. And that stylized Halla Loghain is still carrying around on him. All else is BioWare's baby. And David Gaider's. I just hope they don't mind that I rearranged the furniture…_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 51_

Dark eyes swept over the bickering forms of the dwarven nobles - the deshyrs - as they stood along the walls, each in their own alcove, glaring down at the Steward. Fergus felt sorry for the older man. His had truly been the only true voice of reason during this whole ordeal.

The human nobleman allowed his thoughts to wander slightly. He was concerned about Adela and the others. They had been gone for over two weeks, the only word of their progress having reached them only a few days ago. A messenger from the Legion of the Dead had advised the Assembly that the Grey Wardens had passed into Bownammar a week ago as they continued to seek out Orzammar's missing paragon.

Now, the nobles bickered and fought, swore and cajoled at one another. Not only was the matter of the throne up for discussion, but inconsequential things such as trade agreements, caste standings, and such, and frankly, Fergus' head was starting to hurt. He had attended several Landsmeets with his father (he swallowed past the pain that memory brought up in his heart, forcing any thoughts of his family away. Now was not the time for such reflection) and he had never seen such wrangling as what he was witnessing now. At any other time, he would have been amused. During the time of a Blight, it seemed ridiculous.

"Lord Fergus?" a well cultured voice called to him from the floor. Blinking, realizing he had gotten lost in his own thoughts, the human noble looked down at the questioning form of Steward Bandelor.

"Pardon? I apologize, Steward. How may I assist?" he asked politely, feeling a little foolish being caught daydreaming.

The dwarven Steward smiled politely at the human noble. "It would seem that the Assembly has reached a decision with regards to the Grey Wardens."

A dark brown rose, and Fergus nodded, indicating that they continue. The Steward bowed respectfully to the human noble, then turned back to the Assembly. "All parties have agreed that proceedings to confirm the throne will be placed on hold. An agreement of all parties has been reached that it shall be left to the discretion of the Paragon who shall sit upon the throne. In the absence of said Paragon, it shall be left to the Commander of the Grey Wardens, as an unbiased personage of noble respect." Fergus stifled the smirk that threatened to cross his lips at the very precise wording the Steward was using now.

The Steward turned a full circuit and then continued. "It has been agreed by all present that the Assembly shall reconvene in one week's time. At which time, if the Grey Wardens or the Paragon have not made an appearance, a vote for the throne shall be placed, and decided upon by those deshyrs appearing."

A frown crossed Fergus' face. _Only a week_? "Steward," he called down. The older man looked up, and Fergus could see clearly that the Steward did not like the decision either. "A week's time? Surely, we could spare the Grey Wardens more time than that to return to the City?"

"They have already been gone for over two weeks," Bhelan responded, his smooth voice with an undertone of derisiveness directed at the human in their midst.

Fergus turned his frown upon the Prince. "With all due respect, Your Highness," he bowed deeply to the other man, watching for that twinkle that he knew would appear in the younger man's eyes. _Yes, there it was_. _Now, play nice, Fergus_. "We had just received word from the Legion of the Dead that they went into Bownammar a mere week ago. Surely we could give them at least an additional week to return?"

There was a general chatter and murmuring from the other nobles, some angry words rising above the softer spoken ones. Bhelan offered a glare to the human noble, who merely bowed his head slightly at him. Steward Bandelor watched the deshyrs closely, his grey eyes sharp, his ears turned into the turmoil of words. Finally, a small smile graced his craggy face, and he risked a glance up at the human, an almost unperceivable nod of his gray-white head.

Bhelan gave a nod, and Harrowmont mimicked it, and the Steward spoke. "As agreed by all present, the Grey Wardens are given by the end of two weeks to make their appearance. Otherwise, we shall proceed with a final vote for the throne."

With those words, the Steward gave the closing remarks, and the deshyrs filed from the Assembly Hall. The young human noble relaxed his stance, giving the Steward a thankful nod of his head before leaving the Hall to return to the Warden compound.

He hoped he had bought Adela and her group enough time.

DA:O

Adela pushed herself to her feet, stepping to stand directly before the bloated corpse of the Broodmother. Behind her, she could hear Morrigan and Niall as they cast about with healing spells, the rustle of a flap to a pack indicating poultices and potions were being sought. She more felt than heard Alistair's approach to her side, and, with tears in her eyes, she looked up into his ragged face.

"Tell me they don't know…" she whispered, her voice raw, the look upon her face anguished. Her eyes turned back to Laryn and she closed them, allowing the tears to spill down her face.

Alistair didn't respond, and she said. "Tell me that Duncan didn't know…that they don't realize what they do…" her voice dropped off as she fought against a sob.

"I don't know." came Alistair's whispered reply.

"How could they not know?" the elf turned, demanding, her voice raised. Their companions looked up, the two dwarves glancing at one another. Adela's arm swept out, encompassing the form of what had once been a young woman - a wife, perhaps a mother - now deformed, abused, changed into something that reproduced the very thing her people fought day in and day out against.

Alistair merely shook his head, his mouth opened slightly in denial, yet unable to answer.

"We dwarva were not aware of these…things," Serena offered quietly, her eyes avoiding looking at the woman, someone she had once known. Her eyes swept over the entirety of the cavern before she continued. "We are deeper than even the Legion goes."

Adela frowned, shaking her head. "I can understand how the dwarves would not be aware of this," she wiped a grimy hand across her eyes. "After all, you fight them daily, just trying to keep them from invading your home. To bring the fight to them would take more resources than you have. However, the Grey Wardens," she was angry, and her hands fisted themselves. "have a duty to destroy all darkspawn. They should have known…they should have traveled deep into the Roads, searching out pockets of darkspawn. I refuse to believe that they don't know!"

"Adela," Alistair put his hands upon her shoulders, shaking her slightly.

"They have to know," she lifted her tear streaked face to Alistair, lowering her voice so that only Alistair could hear. "And yet, they recruit women into their ranks. They force them to undergo the joining, knowing what may happen to them. They send them into the Deep Roads at their Calling, knowing what fate awaits them if they are not killed outright." She shook her head, suddenly stepping away from her husband, casting at him an accusing stare. "Just tell me they didn't know, that Duncan didn't know." her voice was a plaintive whisper again, pleading with him to deny what she suspected. But he could not. He could only shake his head, uncertain of the answer.

Nodding stiffly, the elf stepped further away from the man who loved her, whom she loved, and picked up her pack. The others rose, picking up their packs as the elf walked to each side tunnel, glaring down into the gloom of each. One tunnel glowed with lichen.

"This way," she decided, turning and heading down the glowing tunnel. Silently, the others shouldered their packs, and, with a sympathetic glance to Alistair, who watched as his wife's back disappeared into the tunnel, they followed.

DA:O

They met no residence as they traversed the twisting corridor, dimly lit by the blue glowing lichen. Adela remained silent, her thoughts focused upon the Broodmother, upon what the Grey Wardens did or did not know, about so many questions that still remained unanswered despite having found Duncan's cache of papers. Resolute to study the papers more thoroughly upon their return to Orzammar, the elf continued to silently lead her companions along the tunnel.

Alistair walked, silently, beside his wife, unable to find words to assuage her concerns. He could lie and state that Duncan knew nothing about the broodmothers, but the elf would know it for a lie, would know he merely sought to soothe her rattled nerves. That was not what she wanted, and would only anger her further. So, he remained silent as well, unsure how to approach his suddenly sullen wife.

The tunnel ended, opening up into a huge cavern. Oghren ran his course fingers along the walls, stating that Branka had, indeed, been here. Her markings were all over the walls and floors.

As they crossed the threshold, walking further in, Niall's foot sank, the stone he stepped upon sinking into the ground. Cursing, he jumped back, but too late. Behind the group, a rock slide of heavy granite fell into place, blocking their retreat from the cavern.

Scowling at the rockslide, Adela turned to the sound of chuckling.

Above them, standing imperiously upon a narrow ledge, stood a dwarven female, dressed in impressive armor, even more ornate and fine than that worn by Serena. The dwarves of the Grey Warden's party stepped forward, Oghren's face alight with delight, Serena's with suspicion.

"Branka!" Oghren chortled, clapping his hands together once. "By the stone, woman! Yer a sight for sore eyes!"

The woman - Branka - narrowed her eyes, her face gray and hard, worn and tired. Those gray eyes, however, were sharp, piercing, calculating. Hard and unfriendly as they peered down upon her husband.

"Oghren? Is that you?" She asked haughtily, scowling down at the man. "I should have known you'd find your worthless hide down here." She turned away from the man's frown, turning her attention to the female dwarf. "And Serena? Never thought I'd see you so far down in the Roads. Please tell me that you weren't fool enough to follow Oghren in his mad quest to find me?"

Serena snorted in an almost unladylike fashion, her blue eyes fixed upon Branka's. "Hardly." The noble straightened slightly. "You caused a lot of upset in Orzammar, Branka. A Paragon is our first and foremost treasure."

Branka scoffed, snorting out her nose noisily. "I never asked to be a Paragon, to found my own house. But, since it was forced upon me," she pointed a gauntleted finger at the younger woman. "sanctioned by _your _father, I figured 'why not use what I have been given'. The Anvil is the most important artifact of the dwarva, and yet we have left it to rot, sullied by the hands of those it was created to destroy!" Her hand fisted, pumping into the air with her determination.

Serena took a step back, her sharp eyes fixed upon the woman above them. Oghren looked absolutely despondent, merely shaking his head. A smile crossed the Paragon's face, and her eyes fixed upon Adela. "And, who have we here? An errand boy? Come to seek out their Paragon on behalf of the fools in the Assembly?"

"Watch yer tongue. This is a Grey Warden ye speak to!" Oghren found his voice, rising to the defense of the Grey Wardens.

Chuckling, she shifted a hip, resting a hand thereupon. "Oh…an important errand boy then. Let me guess: Endrin has died, and the Assembly is in an uproar over whose ass to put on the throne." She ticked a finger against her chin. "Yes, that must be it. After all," her eyes shifted to Serena's reddening face. "Endrin was on the rather old and wheezy side."

"Watch how you speak of my father, Branka," Serena warned, taking a step forward, her hand upon the hilt of her sword. "You may be Paragon, but Endrin was your King!"

Branka scoffed, but chose to ignore the royal as she turned her attention once more to Adela. "So, tell me, Grey Warden, why do you bother to do the Assembly's bidding?"

Frowning, tilting her head as she studied the dwarven woman above them, Adela answered, "There is a Blight, and I have treaties that obligate the dwarven people to aid at such a time."

Her face relaxed, and Branka nodded her graying head, interested now in the Wardens. "A Blight, you say? Let me guess: With Endrin's passing, no one seems able to make a decision to actually honor their word, and sent you on a quest to obtain their long lost Paragon." Her eyes narrowed and she chortled out a rough laugh. "Tell me, Warden, what will you do for me if I perform this little service for you?"

"You may think us errand boys, Branka," Adela growled out, surprising her friends. "But that is not so. Your city needs you. We need the dwarven people to honor their obligation. If you refuse, so be it. I'll just turn my little party around and go back to Orzammar, and tell everyone you are dead, as is your house."

Branka laughed, laughed hard and loud, bending to slap her hands upon her knees. Straightening, she replied, "Oh! I like you, Warden. Tough as any warden, despite being so very tiny and frail looking. But, I am afraid, there is no 'back' for you and your party." The Paragon waved a hand toward the sole tunnel leading out of the cavern. "You see there? That tunnel leads to Caridin's greatest invention - the Anvil of the Void. That is the only way out of here. However," she turned back to stare at Adela with those piercing eyes of hers. "Caridin lined the passageway with traps. You see, that is why I needed my house, that is why I allowed the creation of the broodmothers. I needed fodder, you see," she said, pacing back and forth, as though was she was saying was the most sane and obvious thing to do. "But, the darkspawn are mindless, constantly throwing themselves at the foe, but never able to figure out the puzzles that the traps truly are." She ceased her pacing, an intense smile upon her face. "You, however, are clever. Clever and resilient enough to trek further and deeper into the Roads than anyone else - from the surface or dwarven cities - has since the darkspawn sent us scurrying to our last refuges." She turned, walking to the opening at the back of her ledge. "I have every confidence you will find your way through the traps."

Before she could leave from sight, Oghren shouted out, "What happened to you, Branka! I remember marrying a girl you could speak to for one minute and see the genius of her!"

Pausing at the exit, she turned, fixing her husband with a startling cold gaze. "I am your Paragon." Then she turned and stepped through the crumbling archway.

DA:O

They had passed through several traps and puzzles, and Adela found that her anger - her hatred - of Branka grew with each dwarven body they passed. She ignored that the darkspawn bodies were most likely created from those women Branka allowed to be taken and transformed into Broodmothers. To think too hard and long upon that would make the small elven woman want to curl up into a tight ball and cry.

The elf allowed the hatred she felt for the dwarven woman to flow through her, giving her the strength and courage to continue on, passed the bodies, through the traps, through the puzzles. That the woman had used her own house - her own _family _- as fodder against the darkspawn, against the clever traps…as so much more….was unthinkable and unforgivable to the alienage elf. To her, as with so many from the alienage, family was the first and most important thing in the world. All else came second.

They had just finished their battle with a strange trap - angry spirits appeared from thin air while a large, multi-faced, top like contraption continued to assail them. Only by destroying the nearby anvils could she do any harm to the contraption, and soon, the spirits stopped appearing, and the mechanism finally destroyed, revealing a door at the very back of the chamber. Exhausted, frustrated, and angry, the elf called for her party to rest. She had no idea what awaited them ahead, but she did not want to send her friends into the unknown as exhausted as they were.

She slipped off her pack, settling it to the ground, leaning against it. She found she missed Hafter, wishing she had decided to bring the huge warhound with them. She had left him behind, concerned that the narrow spaces would be too confining to the poor mutt. Now, selfishly, she wished for his steadying and warm presence as she settled further down upon her pack.

She glanced up as Alistair settled beside her, placing his pack near hers, leaning against it in a similar posture as she held. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before turning to him.

He was exhausted. His face was worn, almost gray, his eyes, staring ahead of him, flat and red. She had been giving him the silent treatment, speaking to him - no, rather at him - during battle or when she gave out orders. She was being unfair to him, and she knew it. Tentatively, she reached over, clasping his hand with hers. His body relaxed tremendously as he curled his fingers around hers, pulling her against him in relief.

"I'm sorry," she murmured as she shut her eyes, settling into the warmth and comfort that was her husband. She felt him nod, but he remained quiet. Peeking open an eye, she saw that he, too, had shut his eyes, his breathing relaxed and deepening in sleep. Glancing around, she saw that the Sten was standing guard over the party as the others prepared their bedrolls or food.

Glancing up at the high, vaulted ceiling, she noticed that the same lichen grew there, casting a strange, blue glow over the rounded top of the chamber. Once, this had been a carefully hewed chamber, that was easy to see. Runes marked the walls and floor, the carefully carved archways now little more than crumbled ruins. Gazing about, the elf realized just how much the dwarves had lost to the darkspawn, and she felt a surge of pity for the race. In many ways, they, too, had lost much, due to human arrogance. After all, the Chantry itself admitted that the darkspawn were the result of human avarice. Yet, it was the dwarven people that fought on a daily basis for that human folly. Much as the elven people did.

_I must be tired_, she thought as she shook those thoughts from her mind. They were too much like something her mother would say, and she had spent her life trying not to adopt her mother's prejudiced view of humans. After all, most humans Adela had met were just people like her own. Some were good, some were bad, most fit in that in-between place, just doing what they had to do to survive.

She settled closer to Alistair. Murmuring, "I love you," she allowed her eyes to fall shut and settled into a light slumber.

DA:O

They allowed themselves only a couple of hours of needed rest and to partake of some nourishment. Serena, following what she and Oghren called their 'stone sense' had found a hot spring bubbling up in from the ground, and the companions managed to wash some of the blood, dirt and sweat from their bodies. A sponge bath, surrounded by others, was better than nothing at this point.

Only slightly refreshed, Adela once against shouldered her pack (a habit she was getting very tired of) and led her companions through the sole doorway out of the chamber.

The tunnel they walked along was lined with the glowing lichen, veins of silver and gold flowing along the walls, floor and, if she guessed correctly, ceiling above. Both dwarves watched as they passed by the gold and silver shot walls, glancing at one another occasionally, a blond or red brow quirked up every now and again. Obviously, there was wealth to be found within the caverns the tunnel interconnected with.

The light began to grow brighter, and the companions knew that it was not from the lichen that the lights came from. Ahead shown bright light, telltale of the end of the tunnel.

As they neared the tunnel's exit, they gasped in unison at the sight before them.

The cavern was huge, opening immediately into its full width. Brightly glowing lichen and gemstones marked the walls and floor, veins of lyrium shooting up from the floor, adding their own soft blue glow. To her left stood a great monolith of white veined obsidian. Toward the rear of the cavern stood a set of stairs, leading upwards, to a great anvil set upon a pedestal. Behind the anvil the cavern opened and dropped, the rising heat currents telling the companions that lava flowed beneath the ledge.

However grand the cavern itself, what truly caught the eyes of each of the companions were the figures that lined, military style, a trail that led to a sole, imposing figure.

Golems.

Taking a breath, Adela led her companions into the chamber, counting as she paused just by the first pair.

Golems made of stone, steel and other materials she could not identify. Crystals gleamed from their still forms, dead, black eyes staring straight ahead. They were uniform in size, each standing well over a head of the Sten. As they passed between the rows of golems, the elven warden counted two dozen of the stoic and unmoving icons.

But it was the unique golem at the column's end that truly held their attention.

Taller than any of the other golems, it stood, nearly twice any of its brethren's girth. It's massive form was constructed of a black metal the elf had seen only once - that of the armor worn by Branka. Runes marked it's body, a crest carved deeply into its chest. It's square shaped head marked with the same crest. Serena stepped to the elf's side, raising a hand, but not touching, the crest. Behind them, they heard Oghren give out a startled snort.

"Caridin…" the dwarven noble breathed, still not touching, but letting her hand hover so close to the crest. "This is the crest of Caridin."

"Indeed it is," came a hollow voice from the huge golem. As the companions jumped back, weapons in hand as they recalled their encounters with the lesser golems that had been part of several of the traps and puzzles, the golem's head twisted down, a blue light shining in its obsidian eyes.

"I am Caridin," the voice continued as its hands raised up in a placating manner, "And if you come for the Anvil of the Void, then you must hear my story."

Tilting her head slightly, Adela looked up - up - at the towering figure. With a nod, she gave the golem that claimed to be the Paragon Caridin permission to continued. "Longer ago than I can recall, I was a craftsman, a smith. I had created many inventions that aided my fellow dwarf," The golem moved, the first movement other than its head and arms it made. It took a step back, turning slightly as its glowing gaze settled upon a nearby golem, rigid as stone and unmoving. "The Anvil of the Void allowed me to forge a man of stone and steel, and because of it I was made a Paragon."

"Those creations helped our people battle against the darkspawn for generations," Serena pointed out quietly, a slight frown upon her face as she gazed up at the legend made…metal…that stood before her.

Slowly, with grace that belied its huge body and metallic construction, Caridin turned toward the noble. "The Anvil gave me the power to create invincible warriors, but it could not create life. At first, we used only willing volunteers, but it was not enough."

Now Serena fell quiet as she digested the Paragon's words. "But, that means…" She whispered when she had found her voice, understanding dawning quickly upon her.

Slowing, Caridin nodded. "Yes, we used the dwarva themselves in the creation of the golems. Men and women whose bravery and commitment to the defeat of the darkspawn outshone any other, willingly gave up their lives, their freedoms…their very souls…so that these warriors of stone and metal could be created." There was a sad quality to the metallic, hollow voice, and Adela found herself staring up into the expressionless face, sorrow for the once man creeping along her system.

"What happened?" Niall, from the back, listening as ever, curious as always, asked. The golem lifted its massive head.

"King Valtor, my patron, Orzammar's king, was not satisfied with my use of only volunteers, stating that the construction of the golems was too slow, the results too few. He demanded I start conscripting to swell the ranks of my creations, using political foes, men or women who had, in one fashion or another, displeased him. I protested at first, but finally acquiesced. I placed those who had no desire to volunteer to the gavel upon the anvil," a visible shudder coursed through the huge body. "and so used them to fuel the power behind the golems."

There was silence at that admission, and Serena's eyes narrowed up at the Paragon. With a snort of disgust, the young royal crossed her arms before her chest, and turned her back to the golem, unwilling to watch it any further.

Caridin's tinny voice yet again broke the silence.

"Finally, I could bear no more. The guilt that lay upon my soul…the blood upon my hands…became too much for me to bear. I revolted against my king, and told him no more. Only volunteers would I place upon the anvil." He went silent for a moment, and then said. "And so, my king ordered my apprentices to place me upon the anvil."

"Fitting punishment," Serena muttered, turning slightly to ensure that the golem heard her bitter words. Oghren hissed for her to silence, but the noble had said all she needed to, and once more turned her back to the golem.

"Of that, young one, I agree," there was a measure of respect in the golem's voice as it directed itself to the young royal. Then, turning back to Adela, Caridin asked, "What brings you here, young elf? Surely you do not seek the secrets of the Anvil of the Void?"

"Not so much its secrets, as a Paragon," Adela answered, looking up into the golem's dark eyes. "We were following Paragon Branka into the Deep Roads."

"For what purpose, might I ask?" Caridin was curious, obviously pleased with the company after so many millennia alone.

Adela could sense the loneliness within the golem that had once been a man. "We," she waved a hand to indicate herself, Alistair, Roland and Niall, "are Grey Wardens," she smiled. "Surfacers who fight against Blights and seek to eradicate darkspawn." She shrugged. "We have a treaty that obligates the dwarven people to assist us in cases of Blights. However, the king has recently passed away, and the Assembly seems unable to rectify that situation. So…"

"In order to garner the dwarva's assistance, you sought out a Paragon to choose the successor to the throne," a hand rose to the metal chin, stroking it in thought in a very human - or rather, dwarven - manner. "These dwarva that accompany you, might I know who they are?"

"This is Oghren," Adela placed a hand to the warrior's shoulder, "of the warrior caste, husband to Paragon Branka. And this is the Princess Serena Aeducan."

Serena stiffened slightly at Adela's introduction, turning to stare, with narrowed eyes, at the young elf.

"Aeducan?" Caridin questioned, turning his gaze to the dwarven woman. "Is she one up for contention to the throne?"

Snorting, Serena shook her head. "It is a long, sad, unfortunately not unheard of story among the dwarven nobility," the young royal said sadly. "Although once I may have been considered for such, no longer am I."

Several moments passed, and Caridin continued his study of the young dwarf. Finally, he turned back to Adela. "If I were to offer my assistance, in the form of a crown, bearing the crest of the one whom I choose as successor to the throne, would you in turn do a service for me?"

With an internal groan, Adela slowly nodded her head, hoping she would not regret her decision. How many quests and errands were they really expected to perform?

"As a creation of the Anvil, I am unable to do harm to it. I can use it to create, however, I cannot destroy it." The massive head tilted down. "Help me to destroy the Anvil. I do not wish to see more souls come to harm because of my own vanity."

Startled, Adela's gaze shifted over her group. Serena had turned back by now, watching Adela closely. When the elf's eyes settled upon her, the dwarven noble gave her a single nod of her head, showing her approval of Caridin's request. Smiling, the elf turned back to the golem. "You shall have our help," the elf offered, reaching out to gently touch one thick arm.

"Thank you," Caridin breathed out, making to turn to lead the group to the Anvil.

A harsh voice from behind caused all to turn around. Striding purposefully into the chamber was Branka, her face a deep scowl, anger and hatred in her voice.

"No! The Anvil is mine!" She all but shrieked. "I have sacrificed too much to just let you destroy it in some infantile attempt to allay your guilty conscience!"

"You would enslave more of our people?" Caridin demanded, turning to stand firm before the glare of the other Paragon.

"To stop the darkspawn?" Branka scoffed, stopping to stand, feet braced upon the floor. "I would sacrifice everything! I have sacrificed everything!"

"Branka!" Oghren called out, "Stand down, woman! Don't let this take from you - from us - more than it already has!"

"You are a fool, Oghren," his wife scoffed at him, her eyes narrowed in anger and hatred.

Oghren recoiled at his wife's declaration, at the intensity of her glare.

"You shall not have the Anvil, Branka of Orzammar," Caridin declared, taking a threatening step forward. Adela and her group parted, weapons drawn, spells ready. "I shall stop you by whatever means are necessary."

"You, too, are a fool, Caridin," Branka sneered, raising her arm to brandish what she held therein. "You are not the only Paragon!"

"No!" Caridin cried as the rod within Branka's hand flared to life, blue and red lights dancing along the rod's surface. "A control rod!" His massive form stilled. "My friends! I cannot move! Please! Help me destroy the Anvil! Do not let it enslave more souls than it already has!"

Without a word, Adela and her group moved into action as the golems that lined the cavern sprang to life. Some moving against the Grey Wardens, some moving against the dwarven woman standing alone in their midst.

The golems surged forward, lumbering and heavy, each step sending a tremor along the floor, echoing throughout the cavernous chamber. The Sten braced his feet, his face impassive and set, as he gripped his greatsword, awaiting the golem that approached him. As it swung back, the giant sprang forward, launching off the ground by several inches, bringing his great blade over his head, swinging down, connecting it solidly upon the stone head of his foe. The automaton stumbled back, ducking down under the weight of the blow, chips of stone flying from the great wound the Qunari carved into its head. Landing gracefully to his feet, the Sten moved forward, purposefully, bringing his sword up to bear once more, seeking to end this encounter as quickly as possible.

Adela watched - briefly - as Oghren practically threw himself into the fray, his great axe sweeping out in great arcs, taking great chunks of stone from the knees of the pair of golems that harried him. She watched as he fell into his battle rage, a fighting technique she had seen him use countless times since he joined their group. He had explained to her that he was a berserker, a warrior that drew upon his rage to give him greater strength, stamina and endurance in a battle. After meeting his wife, Adela was certain he had a full store of anger to draw upon.

She turned, darting away from the main fray, standing near Caridin's inert body as she drew her bow. She frowned at her quiver of arrows, pulling forth her flame runes, hoping that they would do damage to the stone and metal bodies of their golem foes.

DA:O

In short order, the companions, along with their golem allies, managed to down most of the dozen or so golems that rose against them at Branka's bidding. Now Oghren faced off against Branka, and the companions stepped back, uncertain whether they should interfere or not.

"Stop this, Branka," Oghren pleaded as he and his wife circled each other, Branka's shield and sword held tightly in her white hands. "If you stop now, we…we can just go back to Orzammar…"

"And, what, Oghren?" his wife sneered, her eyes flashing angrily. "Go back and rebuild our house? Make nice to one another? Create baby Oghrens?" That last shot hurt, as evidenced by Oghren's wince. "No," she shook her head, "there is no going back. I shall not give up what I have sought for so long. I gave up everything for this! Our people will regain their rightful place in the world!" With those words, she swept forward, her blade lashing out at the warrior. Sadly, the warrior caste dwarf stepped back, bringing his axe up only to parry her sweeping blade back.

Freed, Caridin reached down, catching Adela at the shoulder as she stepped forward, pulling an arrow from her quiver. She glanced up to the Paragon shake his head at her. Biting her lower lip, the elf looked back up, watching the drama play out before her. The others stood, in a semi circle, weapons and spells still at the ready, ready to bring down the female Paragon if need be.

The dwarves continued to circle each other, with Branka rushing forward to try and harm Oghren, the warrior still only meeting her attacks with defensive blocking. He refused to battle her. He couldn't. His heart was breaking, and he found he still could not harm the woman he loved.

Whom he would have given everything - his heart, his very soul - to. If she would only come home.

Serena stood nearby, watching as her friend battled the woman he loved. The royal and Branka had once been friends, but Branka's obsession had long ago alerted the younger woman that she was off balanced, and she knew, eventually, the older woman would hurt Oghren, would do something that would be completely unforgivable. That she would sacrifice her entire house to the darkspawn…even she had not seen anything like that.

And, now, Branka was forcing Oghren to battle her. _No_. Serena scowled, raising her shield and sword, and rushed forward, knocking Oghren back as she lifted her shield to block one of Branka's thrusts.

Oghren let out a shout, but the Sten, taking Serena's cue, stepped forward, and pulled the male back.

This battle had to end.

Branka circled the young woman, as she and Oghren had just moments before. The difference was that Serena was battle ready, set on the offensive, ready to strike, ready to deliver the killing blow when necessary. Branka taunted, trying to catch the younger woman off guard. But, it would not work. Serena was trained as a warrior; and, while skilled with her shield and sword, Branka was still first and foremost an inventor, a smith. And had not the formal training of the dwarven noble.

So, Serena continued to circle, dashing forward with her sword, slamming her shield into the other woman's face, wearing her down. The other would try to force the younger woman away, but Serena set her feet, bracing it against the floor, calling upon her stone sense to stabilize her. Sword clashed against shield, shield smashed into a face already ruined with age and too much time in the Deep Roads. However, she had spent so much time running, and she had become hard as the stone that surrounded her. Determined, stubborn, insane, Branka met each attack with one of her own. And the two women danced away from each.

Renewing their scrutiny of the other.

Reassessing their battle plan.

Oghren struggled against the Sten's hold, cursing the giant. The others in turn stepped nearer the dwarf and Qunari, shielding Oghren as much as they could.

"You sacrificed your house, Branka," Serena taunted, her breathing coming to her in gasps. "And for what? An Anvil you will never get to see, let alone touch! Those warriors, those soldiers, could have been put to better use defending the city. Not follow you on your insane drive for your ego!"

The royal slashed out with her sword, finely crafted, smirking as it danced across Branka's breastplate, tiny sparks dancing in its wake.

"Ego?' Branka scoffed as she bashed her shield forward, catching the younger woman off guard. "You think it was all for my ego?'

"What else?' Serena asked as she stepped aside, smashing her shield into Branka's side, catching her off balance and stumbling back, her sword wavering. "After all, everything you have ever done was in order to feed your vanity." She turned, cross stepping as she continued to circle. "Everyone else was wrong. But, oh! Never Branka! Only Branka knew what was best for the people of Orzammar. And so you railed and whined against being made a Paragon. About the responsibilities that you just could never quite step up to!" Serena allowed a sneer to cross her lovely face. "And look where it got you. Even Hespith saw you for the vainglory egomaniac that you are, and killed herself!"

With a snarl and a shout of rage, Branka rushed the younger woman, smashing her shield against Serena's repeatedly. Serena's foot caught on a jagged shard of rock, and twisted. Hissing in pain, the younger woman stumbled back, hopping and limping away. Another shield smash brought the young royal down, onto her back, and Branka's sword swept down.

A great roar of anger, despair, and outrage resounded throughout the chamber, and Oghren shook the Sten from him, raised his great axe and rushed to Branka. As Branka's sword swept down, Oghren's axe swept out, catching the Paragon in the back, tossing her several feet away from the prone form of the Aeducan noblewoman, who lay, unharmed, upon the stone. With a snarl, the enraged warrior sprang at the other fallen woman - one he vaguely recalled he loved - his axe sweeping back as she struggled to her feet.

As he neared her, he shoved her back with a shoulder, catching her off guard once more. Stumbling back, her shield and sword laying several feet in either direction upon the floor, Branka raised her eyes. Fear shone brightly.

"I thought you loved me?" she whispered hoarsely just before Oghren's axe swept along, taking her head from her shoulders, sending it flying across the chamber.

Stopping, staring down at the wreckage that had once been his wife. Blood spurted from the garish wound, flooding the floor around the body. The haze in his eyes cleared, and he blinked against the sudden onslaught of stinging, salty tears. Licking his lips, the warrior started away. "I do," he whispered back as he turned to help Serena to her feet.

DA:O

Caridin watched as the two dwarves limped back to where he stood with their companions, those black, blue glowing eyes fixed upon the bedraggled form of the Aeducan noble. During her battle with Branka, an amulet had slipped free of its place beneath her breastplate. A slight nod of his head could barely be seen, and not understood as the group stood and waited for their dwarven companions to rejoin them.

"As promised," Caridin turned to the elven warden. "I shall create a crown with the crest of the one I choose to sit upon the throne of Orzammar." The golem stepped forward, reaching down to gently touch Serena's amulet.

Big, hazel eyes blinked as she looked up at the towering golem. "Me?" she asked, incredulously. "No, no. I cannot. I was exiled…stricken from the memories…"

"A Paragon's word carries much weight, child. And, in your hands, I believe Orzammar would be best served."

"But, you do not know me, Paragon," the young noble continued to argue. "Nor do you know the two men in true contention for the throne."

Chuckling, Caridin shook his head. "I do not need to know them to know you, child. I watched your reaction when I spoke of the Anvil. I saw you take your friend's place to fight against the woman he obviously had loved. You are self sacrificing, and would never take the easier path because it was there." The golem then stepped back, bowing deeply at the waist. "I chose you, Serena Aeducan, to take the throne of Orzammar." Caridin straightened. "And I shall craft a crown befitting such a personage as yourself."

Dumbfounded, Serena could only watch as the Paragon stepped away, pacing carefully to where the Anvil stood. With a great sigh, she turned, and followed the golem, watching him carefully as he constructed a marvelous crown of gold, red steel, and glowing gemstones, replete with her own personal crest.

Once completed, he handed it to the young dwarf. "I feel undeserving," she whispered, studying the marvelous crown with awe.

Chuckling yet again, Caridin placed a massive hand upon her shoulder. When she looked up, he replied. "That is exactly why I chose you."

The Sten moved up, picking up a massive hammer, slamming it down upon the Anvil, breaking it into several pieces. A relieved sigh escaped from the golem as Caridin surveyed the damage.

"Thank you," he turned to the Qunari, who bowed his head as he turned to rejoin his group.

Adela followed Caridin to the ledge that overlooked the river of lava. They stood, silently, for a moment, before Caridin said, "Atrast nal tunsha - may you always find your way in the dark." And, with these parting words, the golem that had once been one of the greatest inventors in Orzammar's history, stepped out over the void, and fell into the roiling lava below. Offering a prayer of her own, Adela turned and walked, slowly, to her friends.

They could now return to Orzammar.


	52. Chapter 52

_This chapter has given me trouble. Not the chapter itself, but the terrible, horrible writer's block I suffered with it. Thanks to all at the Cheeky Monkeys forum for helping me get past it with as little pain as possible._

_My thanks to those who continue to alert and favorite this story. And to those who read and take the time to review, my special thanks: celtic-twinkie, Bdub, Shakespira, Pirate Ninjas of the Abyss, Zeeji, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Nithu, mackillian, Superstar Kid, Biff McLaughlin, CCBug, avekay, Epiphany sola Gracia, millahnna_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 52_

White stone, upon which was graced black and gold veins, traversed along the ceiling to his room. He knew that surface well, having stared up at it everyone morning since they had arrived in Orzammar. What, three weeks ago? He pushed himself up, tugging slightly at the soft sleeping tunic he wore at night. Too long, in his opinion.

He swung his long legs over the side of the bed, pressing his feet to the well woven carpet upon the stone floor. They had not heard word about Adela and her group since the messenger from the Legion had arrived little less than two weeks ago. The silence was deafening, and the young nobleman was having trouble keeping his positive humor alive.

With long, purposeful strides, Fergus strode to the tub that stood behind a screen. With a smile, he glanced over at the stall that stood against the wall behind the tub, a series of holes engraved in the wall, another set upon the floor. Runes marked the wall just beneath the holes. A shower, the dwarves had called it. For bathing while standing up. Marvelous work, really, but what the Teyrn wanted this morning was a good, long hot soak.

Pressing the runes set within the edge of the tub, he waited as the tub filled with hot water. Another wonderful piece of runic work that the dwarves had yet - and probably would never - share with the surface world. As he disrobed and stepped into the steaming water, he wondered if he would manage to garner the services of a dwarven rune master to set such baths up back at home.

His heart clenched and throat tightened, and he almost stumbled the rest of the way into the water at the thought of home. There was no home at this time, only a great graveyard, filled with the corpses of those he had called family and friends. Invaded by the soldiers of his family's enemy. Men and women he had trained with and who served under him died protecting his home. Servants, who only wished to serve and perform their duties, died needlessly. He could not think of his parents, his wife…his son. He knew only that his sister had survived, and yet her whereabouts were currently unknown.

A tilt of his dark head, and then tears dripped from his face into the hot water. Hastily, with more force than truly necessary, Fergus wiped the tears from his face, picking up a cloth and began to roughly scrub at his skin.

DA:O

It had taken them a week to find release from the deeper parts of the Deep Roads, having found a more direct course from Caridin's cavern back toward Orzammar.

The tension had been working it's way from Adela. During their journey back, she and Serena had gotten to know one another better, and spent a great deal of the journey back to Orzammar talking, blond heads bent toward each other. The dwarven noble was an extremely likeable woman, of that the elven warden had already been aware. But, during their trip back towards her former home, the former royal spoke to the elf of her childhood, her siblings, her father. Adela learned that Trian, the elder sibling she had been accused of killing, was fourteen years her senior, the product of her father's first marriage. She and Bhelan were full blooded siblings, less than two years apart in age.

"Father's first marriage had been arranged," Serena explained as they walked through tunnels thankfully devoid of darkspawn. "Freya had been from a highly placed noble family, one that father's father had been seeking to form an alliance with. As the elder daughter, she was chosen to wed Orzammar's king. That happened to be father."

"Wait," Adela frowned, glancing over at the dwarven woman. "Do you mean she was promised to your father, or that she was promised to whomever would be king?"

With a small smile, Serena replied, "To whomever would be king. Grandfather had been confident it would be father, however, there was another in contention, a cousin I believe." She shrugged almost absently. "Father had been popular and won the election easily. So, he and Freya were wed a week after his coronation."

Blinking, Adela could only shake her head as Serena continued. "I understand Queen Freya was a just queen, and it was widely celebrated when she bore Father a son. However, she died while birthing their second son, and the babe died shortly thereafter."

Serena had fallen into silence, and Adela allowed her time within her own mind. She glanced back, watching as Alistair walked beside Oghren, who had been uncharacteristically quiet and thoughtful during their journey back to his home city. Her husband's head raised, amber eyes meeting blues. And offered her a smile. Calm, loving, understanding. She returned the smile before turning her attention back to Serena, who had resumed talking.

"Many years passed after Freya's death before Father even so much as looked at another woman," the royal lifted her head, smiling at the elf. "Even though their's had been an arranged union, Freya and my father had grown to love one another." She shrugged her shoulders, then rolled them to adjust the shield at her back. "But then he met my mother." That smile turned wistful, and her face softened slightly. "Father used to tell me it was love at first sight." She looked directly at Adela, hazel eyes to blue. "Do you believe in that sort of thing?"

Smiling, the elven warden nodded her head. "Most definitely. I also think that it's not always recognized as such, but I strongly believe in it."

"Ah," Serena smiled broadly, glancing back to watch as Alistair bent down to catch something the dwarven male beside him had muttered. "You and your man there," Serena nodded, turning back to her companion. "Mother was from the same house as Lord Harrowmont. A younger cousin. Although a noble, Mother was a warrior, not one of those noblewomen whose head is full of the latest fashions or gossip," now she grinned. "I take after her." There was the shrug of her shoulders that Adela was starting to know well. "So this time, Father married for love."

"What happened to your mother?" Adela found herself asking, mentally kicking herself. She had meant to let Serena tell the story at her own pace.

However, the Aeducan did not seem to mind, and a sad, wistful smile replaced her grin. "She died, in the Deep Roads, trying to clear out a route to the old Aeducan Thaig. That happened about fifteen years ago."

Serena went silent, lost in her thoughts, her memory of a mother well loved. Adela fell into her own, recalling her own mother, how similar Adaia and Serena's mother seemed to be. Without thinking, Adela asked, "What was your mother's name?"

"What was yours?" the dwarf countered, the grin once more upon her expressive face.

"Adaia Mahariel," Adela answered promptly, matching Serena's grin with her own. "She was a Dalish hunter, a warrior of the blade and bow."

Serena nodded, "I thought as much." She turned, watching their path as they continued to walk, tilting her head slightly to listen to the conversations behind them. A thoughtful expression crossed her face as she picked Oghren's gravely voice from the softer tones of the humans behind them.

"Bryndis," Serena said after another moment's pause. Adela lifted her eyes, standing eye to eye with the dwarven woman. Serena smiled again. "My mother's name was Bryndis."

DA:O

Oghren spoke little, during their trek back from Caridin's cavern, walking beside the taller human man, preferring his company over the others. He even avoided Serena at this time, for he knew her too well, and she was a part of his past, soon to be the most important part of any dwarf's future. And, for now, he just could not walk beside the young noble, for fear that she would want to talk about what had happened.

By the stone! He didn't even want to think about what had happened. That week back. In that ancestors' forsaken cavern, with that towering hunk of metal and stone. The madness of it still was difficult for him to shake.

He glanced up at the tall human, walking so quietly beside him. He snorted. Even though he had only known the young man beside him a few weeks, he knew that his silence was extremely out of character.

The lad apparently _could _keep quiet to save his life.

His hand shifted to his belt, where he had strapped to it a flask of Tapster's finest and harshest swill ever brewed. That hand faltered slightly. Clenching his fist, he muttered, "Sodding tits of my ancestors," and let the hand drop.

"What?" Alistair asked, bending down from his far greater height, a question in those dark eyes.

Oghren lifted his green eyes, smirking up into that too damned young face. "Nothin'," he grumbled petulantly. "Just be happy to get outta these damned roads."

"Amen to that," the young warden responded, straightening up, his eyes going to his young wife walking beside the dwarven noble. Oghren watched as the elf turned, smiling over at her husband, the love she felt obvious in that one, quick glance. He did not need to look up to know that the human returned that look.

And he found himself remembering a happier time in his life, before Branka became Paragon, when she was simply a brilliant, fun loving and wonderful young Smith, married into House Kondrat, married to _him_.

When she was just _Branka_.

Belonging only to him, and no one else: not Hespith, not the damned city, not the annals of the Shaperate.

That hand went back to the flask, and this time, tugged it free, twisting the cap, and lifting it to his lips.

Sod the memories.

DA:O

The gates of the grand dwarven city loomed ahead, the metal bound doors gleaming in the runic lights that lined the corridor leading from the city into the Deep Roads. Despite still being underground, Adela had never been as happy to see a place as she was the gates at Orzammar.

She wanted a bath. A bath and a good nap before proceeding onto the Assembly Hall. Judging by the way her companions looked and moved, she was certain they much felt as she did. However, they had already been absent from Orzammar for over three weeks, and she was concerned about the political atmosphere. She glanced over at the dwarven woman who still walked by her side, her helm now firmly over her head, covering her very recognizable face. And, the sooner they had Serena proclaimed Queen the better. Adela had no desire to put the dwarven noble in any more danger than she would be as soon as they entered into the city.

Keeping in mind that Serena was, technically, an exile from Orzammar, Oghren had suggested that she wear her helm and tuck her amulet into her breastplate. The crown was safely packed away in Adela's pack, so there were no identifying marks or crests to mark who walked with them.

The guards immediately opened the gates at Oghren's shout, hurriedly ushering in the bedraggled group back into the city. The gate captain clapped an appreciative hand to Adela's back, causing the slight elf to stumble slightly. Oghren glared at the man as Alistair stepped to his wife's side. The captain called a young dwarf to him, bidding him to bring word to the Steward that the Grey Wardens and their companions had returned from the Deep Roads. With a hurried bow, the youngster rushed off as Adela and her group walked slowly, but with purpose, from the mine entrance and made their way to the Diamond Quarter.

DA:O

"A fine piece there, aye, milord?" the dwarven merchant ticked a thick finger against the shield the human noble was studying. Fergus glanced up, offering the merchant a mere twitch of an eyebrow before resuming his scrutiny of the armament.

Truly, it was perhaps one of the finest pieces he had ever seen. Even the Denerim master blacksmith, Wade, would find dwarven works rival his own. His eyes followed the clean lines and even thickness. He could detect no weaknesses in the bulwark, and so added it to the growing inventory of arms, armor and other supplies he and Leliana were gathering. Despite having no word yet from the Grey Wardens, the group left behind in Orzammar had decided to remain positive and productive, carrying out those chores that they knew would need to be taken care of if they were to continue with their quest against the Blight.

The nobleman glanced over to where the Orlesian woman was studying a rack of finely woven cloaks, under armor, boots and gloves. The young woman had been uncharacteristically disquiet, as were they all. Wynne sat back at the compound, quietly knitting or resupplying their poultices and potions, occasionally recasting the preservation spell over Artemis' body.

Zevran assisted the elderly mage whenever possible, but found himself slipping out into the city, anxious for any word of the Grey Wardens, the Blight or any other news from the surface. He always returned empty handed.

Hafter stood beside the young nobleman now, his head ever to the ground, an almost despondent set to the proud mabari's shoulders. They were all feeling the distance from their companions, anxiety for their safety making it difficult for them to carry on the simplest of conversations. These tasks they set for themselves did little to appease that anxiety, and Fergus found himself almost grateful for the time he had to spend at the Assembly Hall. At least there was enough muttering, negotiations, favor mongering and such going on to keep the Cousland noble's mind occupied.

There was a commotion at the entrance to the commons, and the human noble turned around, watching with interest as a small crowd of dwarves stepped away from their respective stalls and conversations. He glanced over to see that the turmoil had captured Leliana's attention as well, and, with a nod, they finished paying for their purchases and stepped forward, trying to see what the fuss was all about.

A great murmuring rose above the crowd, and soon those murmurings increased to loud shouts, and several cheers. The great warhound at Fergus' feet let out a loud, yipping bark, and plunged forward, into the quickly growing crowd, seeking the heart of the mob. Anticipation tightened his throat, and he heard Leliana mutter something in Orlesian. Almost without conscious thought, his feet propelled him to the crowd, pushing his way through the stocky built bodies of the dwarves that impeded his progress.

Finally, the crowd parted, revealing a bedraggled group of humans, dwarves, an elf and giant Qunari. Relief swept through him, and he felt Leliana's arms wrap around him in a tight hug, her melodious voice lifting in joyful laughter. Together, arms about one another, the pair rushed to their friends, taking in the dirt, blood and such that covered them nearly head to toe, the exhausted look in each eye. Yet, despite how exhausted the group obviously was, they walked, with determined footsteps, to make their way to the Diamond Quarter.

They all met just at the entrance to the nobles quarters, Leliana releasing Fergus to rush to enfold her witch into her arms, heedless of the tears that poured down her face as she kissed Morrigan firmly upon the lips. A slight blush formed along the witch's alabaster cheeks, yet she returned the bard's embrace.

"We were beginning to worry about you," Fergus said, a wide grin upon his face as he stood before the elven leader of their entire group.

Adela looked up, smiling at her friend. "Are we too late for the party?" she asked as Alistair stepped to her side, offering a hand to Fergus, which the noble grasped enthusiastically, gripping it tightly for fear of releasing it and having his friends disappear once more. He noted the tiredness that infected her voice, and he shook his head.

"Not at all, Lady Warden," the noble replied, that grin upon his face making him feel more than a little foolish. "As a matter of fact, I would have to say that your timing is impeccable."

Scoffing at that, her blue eyes sliding over to the helmed figure beside her, Adela nodded. "Well then, let's get this party started."

DA:O

The Assembly Hall was awash in chaos as the various nobles and deshyrs made their way to their respective alcoves. Steward Bandelor stood upon the floor of the Hall, his face passive as his gray eyes fixed upon the grand doors leading into the Hall. Only when he spied the bedraggled form of the elven warden did his face light up, a smile crossing his craggy features. Raising his Staff of Office, the Steward brought the butt of it down, sharply, upon the stone flooring. It echoed, metallically, throughout the grand Hall, and, slowly, the deshyrs and nobles quieted their voices, turning their attention upon the man who called the Assembly to order.

Bandelor did not miss the sharp stare of Prince Bhelan, nor the almost reluctant gaze of Lord Harrowmont, as the Wardens and their companions entered the Hall, to stand at the head of the stairway, awaiting to be introduced.

Teyrn Fergus nodded once to the elf, and then made his way to the alcove set aside for visiting dignitaries, and stood, straight and silent, as he, too, awaited the Assembly to resume.

The Steward shot a warning glare around at the nobles assembled, and silence soon reigned as he turned to nod the Warden Commander forward.

With a glance and nod to Alistair, the two senior Wardens of Fereldan stepped forward, Oghren stepped down the stairs and stood beside the Steward.

Still helmed and silent, Serena stood between Niall and Roland, Morrigan and the Sten flanking her as they watched their companions step forward.

In a voice that echoed with her exhaustion, Adela recounted their travels through the Deep Roads, how they had found Caridin's Cross, Ortan Thaig, and beyond to Bownammar. Oghren shuffled his feet a little as she told of how they had managed to track Branka beyond Ortan Thaig, and, without mentioning what Branka had actually done, that the entirety of her house had been decimated by the darkspawn.

Oghren snorted slightly beside her, and the elf glanced over, concern and confusion marring her features. With a shake of his shaggy head, Oghren stepped forward, and recounted exactly what had happened to his house, to the men and women who had served within that house, and what Branka had sought. More than a few deshyrs gasped as the ill treatment Branka had inflicted upon her family and those who served her, and others proclaimed out loud in anger against her actions. A few, Prince Bhelan included, had stated that the technology of the Anvil would be worth any price, and stood straight and certain, defying any to rebuff his words.

Beside Roland, Serena stiffened at her brother's words, and the warden was certain he heard the noblewoman beside him mutter a curse. Discreetly, he placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder, and felt the tension ease slightly.

"So the Anvil of the Void was found?" a deshyr asked from his alcove, his broad hands gripping the rail in front of him.

Nodding, Adela replied, "Indeed. The Paragon, Caridin, yet remained, alive, trapped in the form of a golem. It was he that bade us to help him destroy the Anvil, in exchange for his support in appointing Orzammar's next ruler."

Eyes shifting and narrowing, Bhelan added his voice to the questioning, "What proof have we of his cooperation?" Adela frowned up at the dwarven noble, a blond brow quirking up in question. "I mean no disrespect to you, Warden Commander," the dwarf bowed deeply, yet his eyes never left hers, "but all we have is the word of outsiders, a disgraced dwarven warrior, and what I presume a casteless from the Legion," his hand swept to include the disguised Serena. "What tactile proof have you of Caridin's assistance?"

A small smile crossed her lips as she slipped her pack to the floor. "The Paragon Caridin had crafted a crown, emblazoned with his choice's personal heraldry."

Intrigued, Steward Bandelor stepped forward, bending his head to the elf as his eyes scanned the contents of her pack. With a slight widening of his eyes, he glanced over at the helmed, feminine dwarven form who stood beside Roland and Niall. Then, a small smile crossed his lips and he nodded, bending down to pick up the crown, and examine it carefully.

The way he had his body turned, his hands upon the crown, none could detect the heraldry thereupon.

"Well?" Bhelan demanded, impatience heavy in his normally soft voice. "What heraldry is emblazoned upon the crown?"

Bandelor straightened, keeping the heraldry hidden under a hand as he turned to look at the Warden Commander. Adela nodded her head, bowing slightly as she stepped aside to allow the Steward ample time to regain his position at the center of the floor.

Once he was back in his place, Adela spoke again. "Paragon Caridin had taken many things into account, but most especially his own understanding of what was going on in Orzammar as well as evidence as presented to his very eyes."

The elf frowned slightly, glancing up at Harrowmont. The elder dwarf stood, calm and curious, his own gray eyes fixed upon the elf. She watched as they slid, momentarily, to the feminine dwarven figure beside Adela and she was certain realization lit in those sharp, wise old eyes. A mere, almost imperceptible nod of the head, and Adela knew he understood who stood behind her at this time.

"And what of Paragon Branka?" another deshyr, one standing close to Prince Bhelan, questioned, her voice rising an octave as she sought to be heard throughout the grand chamber.

"She died when she attacked Paragon Caridin," Adela recounted, telling how the Paragon had insisted that the cost of dwarven lives was well worth the discovery and usage of the Anvil. The elf fell silent as the chamber filled with voices, some angry, indignant, that their living Paragon had died in such a manner, in such surroundings. Bandelor's staff cracked loudly upon the floor, demanding silence as the wardens and their companions answered questions and retold their story.

Finally, after watching the fatigue that consumed the Wardens and their companions continue to take its toll, Steward Bandelor called for a halt to the questioning. A Paragon, one even more famed and legendary than Branka, had crafted a crown, proclaiming his choice of ruler. That, along with the Assembly's previous agreement that the Warden Commander herself could so make the choice, prompted the Steward to call for silence, to allow the Commander to announce whom the paragon had chosen to succeed the throne of Orzammar.

"Steward Bandelor," Adela acknowledged the elder man with a bow, "Would you kindly proclaim to all present herein whose heraldry graces the crown you hold?"

Bowing formally to the chief representative of the Grey Wardens within Orzammar, Steward Bandelor managed to conceal the smile that remained upon his face. As he straightened, however, his countenance resumed an impassive, neutral expression. Stepping back into the floor's center, the Steward raised the crown. There were gasps throughout the Assembly, for the crown itself was created of dragon bone, gold, red steal and silverite. A delicate, simple creation with thirteen points to represent the lost thaigs. A single spike rose delicately at the brow, the personal heraldry emblazoned thereon.

It was as much the beautiful creation the gasps were for as it was the realization of whose heraldry was engraved upon the front of the masterpiece.

Gold inlay set upon silverite, the gold depicting the countenance of a dwarf - the emblem of House Aeducan. Surrounding the silverite was dragon bone, carved into a shield, emblazoned with a thirteen spoke wheel.

As every eye turned toward the female dwarf, Serena stepped forward, raising her head as she removed her helm for all to see.

There were more cheers than outraged shouts, and Lord Harrowmont himself nodded, offering the young noblewoman a smile, a sparkle in his gray eyes.

Prince Bhelan's voice was the loudest to protest against his sister's installation as ruler of Orzammar.

"Need I remind all in attendance that Serena has been exiled? Stricken from the memories themselves for the murder of our Prince, Trian!" He cried out, waving an imperious hand toward his sister.

Adela did not miss the sad expression that momentarily creased Serena's lovely face. Although the dwarven noble had not spoken of it, whenever Bhelan's name came up in conversation, she had taken note of a certain longing and sadness in her voice. The young woman had obviously loved her younger brother, and his betrayal of her had hurt her deeply.

The sound of silverite cracking against stone reverberated throughout the chamber, and every eye once more focused upon the Steward, silence taking hold.

Raising the crown, the old man turned it so that all could see the heraldry of Caridin: a silver anvil, leaking red, upon a black field.

"There is no doubt, my Lords and Ladies," the Steward intoned in a firm voice that carried well in the Assembly. "This is, indeed, the work of a Paragon." He turned to face Serena, bowing deeply to the young woman. "And it would appear that he found both candidates for the throne lacking."

Serena smiled at the man as supporters of both Harrowmont and Bhelan cried out against the man's words. Harrowmont raised his hands, calling for silence. With respect, Bandelor acknowledged the lord, and all fell silent.

With a slight bow of his head, Harrowmont said, "It is true, both of us are unworthy of the throne of Orzammar," he shook his head as his supporters muttered platitudes to the old man. "It is true. When King Endrin asked that I make certain Bhelan never ascend to the throne, the only means I could think to do so was to offer myself up as a candidate. Apparently," he turned to smile openly upon the Aeducan noblewoman who stood below, beside the Steward. "Endrin must have known something that I had not."

Serena smiled up at the man who was also kinsman to her and her younger brother. One of the few that had believed her when she insisted upon her own innocence. The man who had arrange for the mere exile to the surface of someone who had meant so much to her…

Voices again rose, and a call for the Shaper of Memories to come and confirm that the trademark upon the back of the crown was, indeed, authentic. As a runner left the chamber, a general murmur rose from the nobles therein gathered. Bandelor stepped nearer to speak quietly with Serena, and Adela raised her eyes to survey the gathered nobility.

Lord Harrowmont stood there, watching as Serena spoke quietly with the Steward, an almost fatherly look in those wise, tired eyes. He must have felt Adela's gaze upon him for he turned and met her open and frank gaze with one of his own, before bowing his head slightly and turning his attention to one of his sycophants at his elbow.

Her eyes then shifted to where Prince Bhelan stood, glaring down at his elder sister. He shifted on his feet, bending an ear slightly to listen to obvious platitudes from one of his own cronies. That he was nervous was obvious simply by his body language: instead of relaxed and sure as he had been moments before, his feet shuffled slightly, and his spine was now ram rod straight.

Adela's gaze continued their journey over the faces and forms of the gathered dwarves, smiling slightly as she felt Alistair move closer to her side. He remained quiet, taking in everything going on around them, but had let a hand stray to her arm, touching lightly upon her elbow as a show of reassurance. She glanced over at him, offered him a smile, and then looked up to see Fergus watching the entire drama surrounding him with a mixture of amusement, bemusement and interest that only a noble raised to such a station could demonstrate.

Within fifteen minutes the runner had returned, trailed slightly by the elderly Shaper of Memories, his white beard nearly bristling with the excitement the man felt as he stepped nearer the Steward, hands outstretched for the priceless artifact Bandelor still held.

Hands dried out from decades of working parchment, vellum, stone, chalk and such held the crown reverently, his dark eyes skimming over the entirety of the artifact. Carefully, he turned it over, taking in each and every detail, muttering to the young man that stood by his side, stylus and tablet in hand as he took notes of every detail intoned by the Shaper. As he continued to study, his eyes lit up, and he pulled the crown closer, examining the mark of the Paragon Smith minutely. Then, after another moment's study, he nodded, reluctantly handing the crown back to the Steward. The Steward bowed deeply to the elderly librarian, and then turned, crown in hand, Serena's heraldry outwards for all to see, facing the assemblage of nobles.

"Shaper, please advise all gathered herein of your findings," the Steward instructed in a clear, loud voice.

With a nod, the elderly scholar stepped forward, his eyes going once to the crown, and then raising to address the nobles and deshyrs.

"Every master craftsman has a mark, something with which he or she engraves upon their works as a means of identifying it as one of their own. Some masters even add a little extra to their mark, to ensure against forgeries. Paragon Caridin had one such mark."

The scholar smiled, eyes dimming slightly as he recalled the tomes only he, as the Shaper of Memories, had access to. "As the Shaper of Memories, only I, and those Shapers preceding and proceeding me, have access to this knowledge. In so doing, we safeguard against unsavory personages from trying to pass inferior works as one of a master's. That crown," he gestured toward the item in question, "bears the altered mark of Caridin, Paragon, Master Smith of Ortan Thaig, Bownammar and Orzammar."

"You are saying that it is genuine?" The Steward prompted, trying to rush along the history lesson the scholar was obviously trying to impress upon those anxious and harried deshyrs who merely wanted an end to the debate and settle the issue of the throne.

Nodding, ignoring that the Steward had interrupted him, the Shaper replied, "It is, indeed, the work of Caridin."

Thanking the Shaper, Steward Bandelor lifted the crown, displaying it proudly to all those gathered. He then turned, indicating that Serena move to his side. "Then, as by the words of the Paragon Caridin, by the proof of his works that he favors that Serena Bryndis Aeducan, second child of the late King Endrin Aeducan, hereby takes the Throne of Orzammar, to lead us by the will and grace of our Ancestors."

"Let it be so," intoned the gathered nobles, staves of state tapping against the stone as the Steward turned to the noblewoman, who had bent down to one knee before him. Only Bhelan did not add his voice and staff to those of the nobles surrounding him, his eyes dark and glaring, fixed upon the bent head of his sister. A sharp 'No!" escaped his lips as the crown settled upon her red-blond head, and he surged forward from his alcove on the floor level, reaching over to grasp his sword as he advanced upon his sister.

Nobles fell away from the angered Prince, as guards surged and surrounded him. Alistair swept forward, his shield leading, to knock the dwarven nobleman on his back. As the dwarf struggled to regain his feet, the human Warden brought his sword to bare, pressing it against the soft flesh of the Prince's neck.

No one moved, even Bhelan's former supporters had added their voices to the confirmation of Serena as Queen. Hatred and anger flowed off the nobleman in great waves as his sister, Caridin's crown firmly upon her fine head, stepped to him, looking down at him with such sadness in her eyes.

"Bhelan, Prince of House Aeducan," she took a deep breath, blinking passed any tears that threatened to make their presence known. "I charge you with the murder of Prince Trian Aeducan, rightful heir to the throne of Orzammar. I charge that it was you that set upon him and his men, as they valiantly sought to bring the fight to the darkspawn within the bowels of the Deep Roads. That it was by your hand or by your order that he found his death." She took a deep breath, watching as his eyes glittered at her, giving nothing away, and yet everything. "I charge that you then sought to betray and lay the blame of his foul murder at my feet, and thus condemned me to a fate within the Deep Roads that we had never imagined," she shuddered then, recalling Laryn, Hespith and the other women of House Branka and their horrid fates. She made a note to record the findings at the Shaperate, for all dwarves needed to be aware of the broodmothers.

"I, Lord Pyral Harrowmont, hereby second and uphold the charges made against Bhelan Aeducan by Queen Serena Aeducan," the lord intoned from his own floor level alcove, his eyes fixed upon the stony features of the younger Aeducan.

"And I, Lord Anwer Dace, hereby add my voice to that of the honorable Lord Harrowmont and Queen Serena Aeducan," the nobleman stepped forward, his second tier alcove awash in light as he glared down at the still prone figure of Bhelan Aeducan.

"With the charges so seconded, have we a vote as to the guilt of Prince Bhelan Aeducan?" Bandelor asked as he turned a circuit, his eyes fixing upon each deshyr. A series of 'ayes', sprinkled with very few 'nays' rose up. The Steward nodded once, solemnly, and then turned to the newly appointed Queen.

"Your Majesty," the Steward bowed again, "The deshyrs have confirmed your charges. What say you as to Bhelan Aeducan's punishment?"

Her eyes still fixed upon her brother, Serena set her face in an impassive mask. "For the crime of fratricide, the charge of conspiracy against a noble of high standing, the only punishment is banishment to the Deep Roads." Bhelan paled as he struggled to his feet, a guard pulling him roughly up. "He shall journey therein, devoid of armor or armaments of any kind, to fight against the darkspawn until such action brings about his death." She took a step forward, allowing her brother to see the sorrow in her hazel eyes.

In a soft voice she said, "If I thought for a moment, Bhelan, that you would not act against me or any of my supporters, I would merely banish you to the surface." She shook her head, meeting his hate filled glare bravely. "However, it will be only in the Deep Roads wherein you may, once again, regain your honor."

"And so it is decreed," Bandelor intoned. The deshyrs all repeated his words, and the Steward motioned for the guards to strip Bhelan of his armor and weapons. Standing now, clad only in his woolen under clothing, Bhelan stood proudly, not releasing his sister from his glare. Even as the guards led him away, to the great doors that led only into the Deep Roads, he did not relinquish his hold upon her eyes until the grand doors of the Assembly Hall closed behind him.

As the deshyrs and nobles swelled forward to greet their new Queen, Fergus stepped away, moving to where Adela and the others stood, apart, watching quietly as Serena was swept away into something she really had no desire for, but would accept as her duty to her people.

As he approached, Adela turned, smiling tiredly up at the taller human. "So, how have things been here?" she asked, grinning as Leliana moved forward to hug the smaller elf once and the releasing her.

Shrugging, Fergus replied, "Quiet. But, I have a feeling that silence is about to burst," he glanced back to where Serena stood, surrounded by well wishers and nervous guards. "Come. You all look exhausted and, well," his eyes skimmed over their disheveled appearances. "worse. A hot bath, good food and rest is the new duty of the day."

"More like week," Alistair muttered as he pulled his wife against him, bending down to kiss the top of her head.

"A bath," Adela muttered as she and her companions left the Assembly Hall. "I would kill for a bath."


	53. Chapter 53

_First, I want to say that the release of DA:2 will not have any impact whatsoever with this story, it's planned sequel, nor any of the other stories I have going. I felt it necessary to state this as I know of at least one story I was following where the author is abandoning it in favor of DA:2, comments from other authors re: how they are concerned DA:2 will affect their story, and then other stories that have gone silent. To my readers, know this: The creative juices that inspired these tales of mine are still there, regardless of a new game._

_That being said, my thanks to everyone who lurks, reads, and alters. My special thanks go out to Erynnar for her wonderful shout out in her marvelous story, Soulmates. And, as always, special thanks to everyone who has reviewed: Shakespira, Nithu, mutive, Arsinoe de Blassenville, tgail73, Superstar Kid, CCBug, avekay, millahnna, Erina10, Biff McLaughlin_

_Finally, Kira Tamarion gave me my 300th__ review! Woot!_

_Oh, NSFW. Really._

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 53_

The sounds of water running from the shower stall caught her attention. Finally divesting herself of her undergarments, she padded across the stone floor, naked, entering the bathing chambers to their bed chambers.

Everyone had managed to find time to, at the very least, rinse much of the dirt and grime from themselves before partaking of a great, huge meal in the common dining room. Deciding to discuss events later, to give everyone a chance to rest and restore themselves, Adela and Alistair had retired to their own chambers.

She paused, taking in the sight of her husband - as naked as she - as he washed himself in the shower stall that stood against the far wall of the bathing room. Her eyes took in the sight of him, from where his hands were tangled in his hair - longer from their time in the Deep Roads - rinsing the final remnants of the liquid soap from his hair, across his broad shoulders, down his well muscled back to his narrow hips and tight buttocks. Her gaze lingered there for a moment before finishing their survey down his long, strong legs.

Another thing she had hated about the Deep Roads, other than the oppressiveness and death filled chambers and tunnels, was the inability for the couple to find any alone time. They had been allowed no moments for intimacy, sleeping in their armor and then for only brief moments of time as they were constantly assailed by the vile denizens that has usurped the dwarven underways so long ago. _Well_, she thought as she paused, once again casting an appreciative eye upon her husband's nude form, _that will have to be rectified_.

Hot water splashed along the tiles of the wall and floor of the stall, reminding the young elf of heavy rainfall back at the Alienage. As she stepped into the stall, water splashed along her breasts and abdomen, cascading down her legs as she raised a hand to delicately trace of Alistair's skin. She watched as the muscles beneath the taut flesh rippled slightly at her touch, and a moan of contentedness rumbled from his throat.

Alistair turned, visibly pleased by the appearance of his very naked wife, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him. He bent his head down, capturing her lips with his, pressing firmly against her pliant mouth, coaxing her lips open as he swept his tongue along the lines of her full lips, delving into her eager mouth. Moaning, Adela pressed herself tighter against him, her arms rising up to smooth over along his shoulders and back, moving down to trace lightly over his buttocks. Alistair turned her so that she was fully under the blast of water, pulling away as he carefully stroked her hair back, allowing the water to penetrate deeply to her scalp.

Adela moaned at the attention her husband gave her, relishing the feel of his hands tangled deep into her hair, pulling the strands between his fingers as the water drenched through. She frowned slightly as he pulled away, but was soon rewarded for her patience as he returned, liquid soap in his hands, working it through her thick hair. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face slightly, enjoying the slight misting of water across her eyes and lips, listening as Alistair hummed along as he washed her hair.

After gently rinsing the soap from her hair, Alistair bent down once again to kiss his wife. As she smiled, he kissed along, tracing both of her lips, traveling along her soft cheek to her high cheekbones, finally trailing small kisses across her eyes. That wanton look once more in her eyes, she kissed him once, before kneeling down before him, her hand grasping his length tightly. He shuddered, jerking once as he placed his hands upon the stone wall behind her, closing his eyes as she slowly licked at his tip, teasing the pre-cum that glistened thereupon. When a small moan escaped his lips, she smirked up at him, watching as he opened his eyes to stare into hers. Quirking a brow at him, she opened her mouth, fully taking him with long, slow sucks, her tongue playing along his length as she moved along him.

Her pace quickened, and his hips thrust slightly, meeting her movements with his own. His hands released their hold upon the wall to tangle in her long locks, his head tilted back and he continued to thrust into her mouth, careful not to delve too deeply. Adela hummed deep in her throat, the vibration working up to her mouth, and along the tip of his erection. Finally, he gasped, pulling away from her. She looked up, startled, as he pulled himself free of her lips and hand.

"Please, love," he murmured as he reached down to pull her to her feet, "If you keep that up, I won't last long."

With a sigh, she raised her arms, wrapping them around his neck, tangling her hands in his hair. Hoping he had no intention of cutting his locks, she gave a pull, bringing his face nearer and down to her lips. Pressing her body against his, she could feel his desire pressed against her belly.

"I need you," she murmured against his lips, and, with a smirk, Alistair broke the kiss, traveling down her neck and across her shoulder, down her arm, and then across the tops of her breasts. Easily, as though she weighed nothing, Alistair pulled her up into his arms, several inches from the floor. Instinctively, giving in to the desire and need that swept over her, she wrapped her legs around his narrow hips, pressing against his erection, pressing hard against him as he bent his head to taste one pink nipple.

She felt more than heard his moan as it rumbled in his chest, vibrating along her side as he bent to kiss and suckle at her breast. Adela shifted subtly, brushing against him, causing that moan to increase to a gasping groan as he paused in his ministrations, his breath hot and moist against her skin, even hotter than the water showering them from the marvelous dwarven construction.

Without a word, Alistair straightened, his lips once more on hers as he shifted her upwards, bringing her level with him, pressing her back against the smooth, stone wall as he adjusts himself at her passage. Adela fought a moment of panic, when body memory threatened to overtake her passion and fill her with terrible memory. She pushed it down because this is what she wanted, what she desperately needed. The weeks without any physical connection made that time in the deep dark even more unbearable, and now that she had him, fully, she would not allow herself to retreat into the fear that, every now and again, threatened to overtake her.

She pushed her fear aside, pressing her lips to his, hungrily tasting him, biting at his lower lip as she adjusted her hips level with his own. She pulled back, a lustful glimmer in her eyes as she pulls her knees toward her, bringing her legs up, resting her feet upon Alistair's shoulders. His eyes darkened with passion further, and, without a word, with a groan only, he thrust deeply into her, the angle she now rested in his arms and upon him allowing him deep entry into her.

Sheathed in her moist warmth, he began to move, slowly, teasingly, in and out of her. Her own eyes dilated and darkened, and she tilted her head back, against the stone, her lips parted, tongue darting along her lips as Alistair watched for a moment before lying his head upon her shoulder, his pace increasing slightly.

She tightened around him, gripping him firmly, forcing a deep groan from his lips. His pace quickened as she continued to grasp and release him, teasing him. Twisting her head, she gently moved closer, her tongue tracing along the outer shell of his ear, her breath hot and moist upon his face.

The water continued to cascade over the coupling pair, splashing about them, fogging the room in moist heat. Sweat mingled with steam upon his flesh as his pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent. Growling, he pulled Adela from the wall, fully encompassing her in his arms, his mouth capturing hers in a brutal kiss as he jerked once more, fully sheathed within her, spending himself deeply within her. Adela bit down upon his lip, drawing blood, as she followed him with her own climax.

Panting, foreheads pressed against one another as Adela brought her now aching legs from his shoulders, hanging limply in his arms, the pair murmured their love for one another as they kissed. Taking a deep breath, Adela tangled her hands once more in his mane, pulling his mouth to hers as she eagerly tasted of him again.

"I should hope that you are not done for the evening," she breathed at him.

Panting, Alistair shook his head. "Where do you wish to be, my love?" he asked as he glanced over to the tub and then toward the bedroom.

Grinning, she pressed her body against his before saying, "I don't care if you take me on the Common's floor, so long as you take me."

The command was shameless, lust filled and, already hard, Alistair heaved his wife over his shoulder, taking long strides across the floor. With one hand, he pulled free a large drying cloth, tossed it upon the floor, and then settled down on his knees, laying Adela upon her back, upon the floor. Settling herself, legs apart, she reached up for him, pulling him down. In one quick motion, he was sheathed within her once more.

DA:O

Adela glanced over to where Serena sat, patiently listening as Lord Harrowmont outlined his plans for gathering the dwarven troops that would be called from each house to travel to the surface and battle against the Blight. They sat at a round table, an impressively accurate raised-relief map of the entirety of Fereldan. Every known town in Fereldan was marked, the topographical map contoured to accurately display every mountain, hill, rise, valley, river and lake, distances accurately and painstakingly scaled to within a quarter of a mile of each landmark. Smiling at childhood memories, Adela thought that Loghain would love to add this map to his vast collection.

They all agreed that, ultimately, the Grey Wardens would be in command of the armies once gathered, with each battalion headed by a commander, who would report directly to Adela and the other Wardens.

"House Helmi is being rather obstinate at the moment," Lord Harrowmont pointed out to the Serena, who merely snorted with a grin at his comments. The elderly politician sighed with a shake of his head.

"You're not surprised?" Adela asked as she turned to her friend.

The Queen shook her head, "No. House Helmi will fall in line. They are loyal to a fault. However, I think that they are being obstinate because of my having beaten their champion in the proving."

Lord Harrowmont shook his head as the two women chuckled over that, looking over to Alistair and Oghren to try and keep things moving. Both men simply shrugged their shoulders at the elder man, small smiles of sympathy plastered upon their faces.

After wiping her eyes clear of her tears of laughter, Serena turned her attention fully to her general. "Pyral," he lifted his head, smiling, "I have an idea that will help swell the ranks of those warriors going to the surface to battle the blight." She leaned back her chair, smiling, glancing over at Adela. Lord Harrowmont stared at the queen for a moment before she continued. "And, it will be a plan that none of the warrior class would be able to argue against."

"What plan, exactly, Serena?" Pyral asked, not bothering with protocol during their closed door meeting. After all, the only ones present were the Warden Commander, her second, Oghren, himself and the Queen. Even the bodyguards Pyral had assigned her were now waiting outside of the chamber.

Serena was silent for a moment, and Lord Harrowmont felt a moment of trepidation flow through him. He knew well Bhelan's plans to completely dissolve the caste system, thereby catapulting their entire social structure into a mass of chaos. Trian had been more of a conservative, as had his father, willing to allow the system to continue on as it had for countless generations.

Serena, however, had been more moderate, taking the ideals from both sides of the debate and forming her own opinion. It was what had made her such a popular choice for the throne should Trian prove unworthy of such a position or had he died under less than suspicious circumstances. As for Lord Harrowmont himself, he preferred to leave things as they were. In his mind, there was nothing to fix as nothing was broken.

The wolfish smile, however, that crossed the queens beautiful face did nothing to quell the sick feeling in his stomach.

"Serena…" he began, shaking his white head.

"Calm yourself, Cousin," Serena quietly reprimanded. "We all know that we have a veritable army in Dust Town, people - _yes people_! - more than willing to help in the defense of Orzammar."

"How can you be so certain of this, Serena?" the elderly man questioned, trying to maintain his seating.

The smile remained and she nodded to Oghren. Matching her grin with his own, the warrior stood and went to the door, stepping aside as a pretty dwarven woman, carrying a babe, walked in, hesitating and shy, until she spied Serena and the kind smile she gave her. Shyly, she returned the smile, and then approached the table. Oghren remained by the door, ducking his head out to speak to someone who stood just outside.

"Lord Harrowmont, I am certain you recall that my brother had taken a casteless woman as his concubine and is the mother of his first born," Serena waved a hand at the pretty red head, the side of her smile rising slightly at the discomfort she found in her general's posture.

"That….Serena!"

"Rica Brosca, concubine to the late Prince Bhelan," Serena paused there, recalling the reports that her brother's body had been found several miles in to the Deep Roads, surrounded by many darkspawn before succumbing to his wounds. "This little one," she waggled her fingers at the baby, who cooed and grinned at his aunt, reaching out to grasp her fingers. "Is little Endrin." She cast a sidelong glimpse to her father's best friend, watching as a grimace crossed his face.

"Why, may I ask, is she here?" Pyral finally found his voice, and his temper.

Serena shrugged, smiling back at Rica. The pretty woman, with her traditional dwarven beauty of womanly curves, deep red hair, green eyes, a perky nose and generous mouth, smiled back as she bounced little Endrin upon one curvy hip. "As for the moment, little Endrin here is my sole surviving relative of the Aeducan line." She looked the noble fully in the face, taking note of the anger that now tinged his features. "Where else would he, and his mother, be but at the palace where I can protect them?"

Adela and Alistair exchanged uneasy looks, wondering just where this conversation was going. Serena had already told Adela about Rica, and the elf had already met the pleasant and quiet dwarven woman prior to the meeting. However, knowing how conservative Lord Harrowmont was, the elf - and dwarven queen - were both certain he would object strenuously to Rica's presence.

Apparently Serena felt it necessary to introduce the other woman before setting out the rest of her plans.

"Rica, as well as her sister," she turned to nod to Oghren, who stepped aside to admit another dwarven woman - barely a girl - into the room.

While Rica was all feminine curves, well groomed hair and carefully made up perfection, this one was slighter, more slender. Obviously female, her curves was more akin to Adela's than Rica's - slender to non-existent. A mop of unruly blond curls framed a cherubic face marked by the faded scar that was the brand of a casteless, large, blue eyes taking in everything - from the carpeting to the golden statues in the corners - her full lipped mouth straight. Dressed in leathers, twin daggers hung from her hips, a crossbow at her back. She moved with a grace that spoke of battle weariness rather than the practiced grace of a noble that Rica exuded.

"This is Natia, Rica's younger sister. She is our scout, and has become very valued in my negotiations thus far."

Natia stood by Rica, watching and listening, while a hand reached out for her young nephew to play with. Harrowmont had now stood up from his seat, his gray eyes fixed upon the duster in their midst. It was obvious to him that, while her sister had been a made up noble hunter, the girl had been little more than a thug. Her eyes settled upon his face, wary, her posture assuming that of a very small animal, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

Rica reached over and gently patted her sister upon one rigid shoulder, and the girl relaxed visibly.

"Pyral, just sit your arse down and listen," Serena almost chuckled, glancing over as Oghren resumed his seat with the wardens. A few moments passed, and then Harrowmont finally sat back down, waving a hand slightly to indicate that his queen continue.

"I am, by no means, suggesting that the casteless be allowed to join the warrior caste, or any caste at this time, either. What I am suggesting is that those within Dust Town who are capable join the city's army, under the command of warriors from the various noble houses, and make their way to the surface. A few will even join up with the Legion and follow Kardol's command."

Pyral settled back into his seat, his hands steepled before his face. A thoughtful expression crossed his face, and as he pondered, Serena bade Rica return to her chambers, leaving Natia with them.

The young casteless girl shifted her feet uneasily as Serena turned to face her general. "I have spoken with Oghren and several other members of the warrior caste, and they all seem to think that the idea will work. There were a few…politely dissenting voices," she grinned at her use of 'politely'. Amongst the dwarva, especially the highly vocal and strongly opinionated warrior caste, that was a term used in the most loose of interpretations. However, she had been pleased by the overall outcome of the meeting, and felt bolstered by the caste's support of her idea.

"And what of after the battle, Serena?" Pyral asked, frowning now as he looked over his fingertips to the more than should be smug expression upon the lovely dwarf's face.

"You mean, do I just toss the casteless back to Dust Town and, yet again, continue to forget their very existence as has happened for countless generations?" the smug expression was replaced by one of quiet, thoughtful ire and she gave a firm shake of her head. "No, I do not. I know full well that many of those will prove themselves in battle, and those surviving will more than likely be offered positions within several houses. Those that do not will be formed into a city guard, not a guard serving specific houses that volunteer their warriors to guard duty, but working for the city itself." She smiled at Pyral's twitching brow. "And then we move on to absorbing the rest of the casteless into the city ranks."

"And those that are truly criminals?" the dwarven noble asked, ignoring the speculative looks from the elf and human in their midst as Natia continued to shuffle her feet nervously.

"I have been considering that as well," that smile remained, confident. "We all know full well that most of the denizens of Dust Town are the descendants of criminals, outcast nobles, and such. The sins of the father being weighed down upon the son mentally must end. It is hurting our race far more than it has ever benefited it."

"So you will just let these criminals partake in castes that have worked hard to maintain their status?"

"Hardly. And, worked hard?" Serena scoffed. "Hardly. They are born into their profession, a guarantee of work. Tell me truthfully, Pyral." She leaned forward in her seat, her hazel eyes hard and penetrating. "How many nobles actually work hard to maintain their position within the Assembly? Oh, it is easy to line palms with gold and ore, but to actually work toward whatever is best for the dwarven race rather than for what benefits their house? I've seen it in all too few houses, and that, too must end." She shook her head. "The true criminals, those who earned their status as casteless, will, for the time being, be separated from those others in Dust Town. I believe that there are…dungeons beneath Dust Town, where the carta used to have their hide out." She smiled over at the duster, who shyly smiled back. "Thanks to Natia here, that will no longer be a problem."

Pyral's brows knitted together, once more in thought. "What have you in mind?" He asked.

However, Serena merely waved a hand. "I would rather get our armies together to battle the Blight first, and then we can move on to more….interesting battles thereafter." Her grin was contagious, and soon, the conservative nobleman found himself smiling back at her.

Satisfied she had Lord Harrowmont's full support, Serena turned to the Grey Wardens. "Our troops begin to assemble, even now. Most of our houses are intelligent enough to realize the danger of a Blight, and, fortunately for us, many of them are seeking my favor," she turned that wolfish grin to her general once more. "Especially those that had sided with Bhelan against me when those charges were so falsely made."

This time, Lord Harrowmont returned that wolfish smile, and it was then that Adela fully saw the family resemblance.

Leaning back in her chair, the Warden Commander nodded her head, and then looked over at the young dwarven girl who had stood, quietly, with them all this time.

"Natia will be serving as our runner," the elf turned to Pyral. "She will take missives to the network of runners that will be set up along all routes between Redcliffe, Orzammar, Lake Calenhad, Gwaren and Denerim. That way, we can send as accurate and current a message regarding where to assemble our troops without having to make the weeks-long journey to Orzammar ourselves."

Pyral Harrowmont nodded his white and gray head, approving. His gray eyes shifted the girl, appraising her, taking in her wiry limbs and barely restrained energy. "That is a fine idea, Commander," he finally approved, turning that smile to the elf and the others. Looking back at his queen, he said, "I believe that this will work fine, Serena."

Relaxing back in her chair, her fingers lightly tapping the ornate armrest to her throne-like chair, Serena nodded her head. "With the dwarves on their side," she waved a hand to her Warden friends, "the wardens should have no difficulty quelling the Blight."

Chuckling at that, Harrowmont agreed with a nod as he and the others leaned back over the map upon the table before them.

DA:O

Their days left in Orzammar were filled with strategic meetings with Serena and Harrowmont, gathering supplies and preparing for their journey back to Redcliffe.

Their nights were passion filled, with Adela becoming more insistent and taking more control of their love making. Even if initially taken aback by her unusual aggressiveness, Alistair had been pleasantly pleased by some of the…innovative ideas his wife had come up with for their love sessions.

Eventually, the day of departure arrived, and the group found themselves standing at the great doors leading from Orzammar back to the surface. Bodahn Feddic had restocked his wagon with new supplies, taking care to maintain an area within his wagon for the Wardens' heavier and extra supplies. The merchant seemed to enjoy as the line of dwarven servants carried out their new purchases, directing them as to where to place each and every item.

The last burden to be brought out for placement in the wagon was the carefully wrapped and preserved body of the young elven mage, Artemis. As they passed by the Wardens and their companions, a solemn silence fell over the group, giving respect to the young elf that had perished to become a grey warden. This honorable burden was reverently placed at the back of the wagon, the dwarves handling the solemn burden quiet and respectful as they arranged him.

After several moments, with a smile, Serena pulled the young elf into a strong embrace. "Thank you, my friend," the dwarven queen whispered into the elven commander's ear. Pulling back, she said, "For everything. If not for you…"

Adela shook her head, returning the smile. "You did it all, Serena," she answered. "The people love you. I think that you will be a good queen."

With a sigh, the dwarven queen nodded her head, "I certainly hope so." Her hazel eyes wandered to where Oghren stood, quietly for a change, watching the great doors with an expression mixed with trepidation and concern. "Take care of him, will you?" she looked back to her friend. "He has been through much, and is a very good and loyal friend."

Adela's eyes shifted to the warrior, who was now watching Serena with an expression the elf had never seen on the taciturn dwarf's face. Startled, she glanced back, but Serena was embracing Alistair, bidding her farewells to her new friends. She looked back, but the warrior was, once again, watching the doors, his expression hidden from her.

Finally, they were ready, and, with a final farewell to those dwarves who had gathered to see the Grey Wardens off, the group watched as the great doors were slowly opened, revealing a bright day, cool wind whispering through the aperture. With a final look back, the Warden Commander led her group out into the openness that had been denied them for far too long.


	54. Chapter 54

_This is a short chapter, I know. I wanted to get Adela and Co. away from Orzammar and on the road. Writer's block (well, not really a block. It's more like my Muse has been dancing around many, many of my stories - even those not written yet - and won't let me focus) has made this almost a chore. I've been working on this and the other stories, bouncing around from one to another. And, I'm hoping that with publishing this chapter, that silly Muse of mine will finally calm down and just focus!_

_Anyway, thanks to everyone who read and alerted. And, especially to those who have reviewed!: avekay, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Biff McLaughlin, Nithu, CCBug, Shakespira. _

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 54_

Fresh air enveloped them as they exited the vast doorway from the underground city of the dwarves. Adela lifted her face to the sunlight, breathing in the air. Around her, her surface dwelling companions mimicked the same gesture, even the Sten lifting his lavender eyes to the sky. The weeks below ground, relying upon artificial lighting, the oppressive weight of many tons of stone and earth above them had changed the companions. Being once more under the sun, even one dimmed by the blighted sky, was welcome to the surface dwellers.

Their two dwarven companions, however, cringed slightly as the breeze ruffled through their hair, the sunshine bright and unforgiving to eyes too used to the muted light of mage lights and lava flows. Oghren was the first to recover, however, taking tentative steps to stand by the Warden Commander, his green eyes blinking rapidly as he forced himself to stare up into the gray-blue of the sky above.

"Are you going to be fine, Oghren?" Adela asked as she glanced over at the dwarven warrior, concern laced in her voice even as her heart rejoiced at being reunited with the sunshine, tinged with sadness as she took in the damage done by the Blight.

Snorting, the dwarven male nodded his head, "Yeah, just…gimme a moment," he narrowed his eyes, bringing a hand to shade them. "Just look at it, will ya? I feel like I'm gonna fall up into that great…whatchacallit? Sky."

Smiling, the elf turned her face once more to the sun, closing her brilliant blue eyes. "Trust me, my friend. You will not fall up into the sky."

Glancing over at her, Oghren noticed Natia slink up to the pair, her open face awash with fear, tinged a little green as though she would be ill. Straightening, the warrior turned to the elven rogue. "Yeah, yeah. I know that! But, actually being out here….seein' it…." he shrugged, "It's something, that's all."

Nodding, the elf patted Oghren upon one broad, strong shoulder. "It is indeed," she replied as she took a step ahead, anxious to put space between them and the Deep Roads, the terrible memories of what they found beneath the stone and earth.

Natia moved to stand next to her fellow dwarf, her eyes wide, her hands trembling slightly. The older dwarf looked over at the casteless girl. "C'mon, ya nug hunter!" he said as he clapped the smaller girl upon a shoulder, causing her to stumble forward slightly before she caught herself. "Let's show these surface dwellers what a real dwarf is made of!" And, with bravado he did not feel, he took a step forward, walking from the entryway of his home, and into the vast wilderness, following after the Warden Commander and her companions.

Taking a deep sigh, watching as the others followed, Natia glanced back once at the now closed doors that led back to the underground dwelling of her people. Casteless or not, Orzammar was all she had known. Shaking her head, wondering how she had let Rica and Queen Serena talk her into this mess, the dwarven rogue took a small step forward, ignoring the amused looks of the guards surrounding her.

Taking a deep breath, she turned, offered up a quirky grin, and said, "It all starts with baby steps, my friends," she bowed extravagantly, and then turned, took a deep breath, and all but bodily launched herself off the steps. Her strides eat the ground, and she found herself running, quickly catching up with the elf who led their group, skidding to a halt and resuming a more composed pace beside the elf.

Adela looked over, smiled over to the casteless girl. And suddenly Natia felt as though her sister and the Queen may have done her a good turn after all.

However, she was resolute that she wouldn't look back up into that vast, endless sky anytime soon. The vertigo she felt almost made her vomit.

DA:O

Flames licked hungrily at the body of the elven mage, black smoke rising into the blue sky before dissipating upon the wind. Wynne and Niall stood, huddled, arms around each other, as they watched the body of the young mage blacken and char, his handsome features melting with the intense heat of the mage fire.

The others stood, silent, in tribute to their brave friend, some wishing they had taken the time to get to know the perky young elf more, others glad for the friendship they had forged with the spunky young man. Adela stood, with Alistair's arm around her shoulders, watching as his body was reduced to ash, determined to watch as the last ember burned, determined to honor the young Warden properly.

They had set up their camp some miles from Orzammar's entrance, resolute to see the somber event to its full closure. The young elf would have preferred to have held Artemis' funeral rites in the Brecilian Forest. However, they had not the time, nor spare room in Bodahn's wagon, to carry the body weeks out of their way for such an event. So, halfway down the mountain they came to a wooded area, and built his pyre. Morrigan and Leliana had found a sprightly sapling, carefully digging its roots free of the hard earth, readying it for its new home upon Artemis Surana's grave.

Once the ashes were cooled, Adela, Alistair, Roland, and Niall gathered their fellow Warden's ashes, placing them in a jar Wynne had procured while in Orzammar. The bright golden finish of the urn was painted in bright colors - a forest scene obviously purchased from a surface merchant. Artemis' ashes safely sealed in the urn, they dug a small hole, wherein they placed his jar. Niall carefully placed the sapling within the hole and then carefully buried the jar and the sapling's roots. After patting the earth down, and watering the small tree, the four Wardens sat silently for a moment, their thoughts to the quirky young man that had lived far too short a life.

With a sigh, they rose, and rejoined their companions back at camp.

DA:O

Within a week the companions had managed to wend their way from the high reaches of the Frostback Mountains, the ground leveling out before them. Bodahn's wagon rumbled along behind them, the oxen pulling the load snorting and grumbling every now and again. Sandal sat happily beside his father, clapping his hands as Hafter pranced beside the wagon.

Midday brought a darkening of the sky ahead, gray clouds skimming across the horizon as the troupe made their way further down the slopes. Fergus, now sitting next to Bodahn as the dwarven merchant wended his way along the mountain merchant's highway, glanced to his left, watching as the others walked along, each in their own thoughts or conversation with whomever traipsed alongside them. A frown on his face, he gracefully leaped from the slow moving wagon, moving to catch up to where Adela, Alistair and Roland walked at the lead of the group.

His footsteps heard, Adela turned slightly in his direction, her pace slowing to allow the nobleman a chance to catch up. The two wardens beside her slowed their paces to match, while continuing with their own conversation.

A smile crossed his face as the Highever Teyrn caught up. "My thanks, Commander," he said formally with a bow, causing the young elf to roll her eyes and Alistair and Roland to chuckle behind her. The smile turned to a grin. "I had a question. It's rather silly, I am sure, but it's a question that has been nagging me for some time."

"Oh, this should be good," Alistair muttered with a grin. Adela jabbed back with an elbow, catching the much taller human just at the hip. Stumbling back in mock hurt, her husband let out a groan, a hand rising to his forehead as he pantomimed an injury.

With a roll of her eyes and a smirk upon her full lips, she turned her attention back to the grinning Teyrn. Roland, behind, merely stepped away from his friend as Alistair stumbled by.

Shaking his head at the warden's antics, fully aware that since their leave of Orzammar the spirits of his companions had brightened considerably, the noble turned his attention back to the elven warden, who stood, patiently, awaiting his question. With a movement of his hand, he indicated they should continue walking. With a nod, a glance back to her fellow wardens, Adela matched pace with the Teyrn's stride.

"Why do you not have use of horses?" Fergus asked, glancing back to the pair of strong oxen Bodahn used to pull his heavily laden wagon. "It would cut your travel time by at least half."

"Do you know much about horses, Fergus?" Adela asked as she brushed at a speck of dirt that found its way upon her armor.

"Some," the noble admitted, "I know how to sit a horse, and care for it short term." He shrugged almost apologetically, "We'd stable hands aplenty at Cousland Castle, and I'll admit to not paying all that much attention."

Smiling, the elf waved away his explanation. "We had considered horses early on in our travels, but quickly dismissed the notion."

"Why, if I may ask?"

She shrugged, glancing back as Roland and Alistair hurried to catch up with them. Zevran and Niall, trailing behind the elf and Teyrn, said something to both men, and the two wardens pulled up to engage in a conversation with the elf and mage.

Turning back, she explained. "Horses require a lot of care, a lot of attention. Even if they can cut our travel time down, they would be expensive to maintain. And, they are far more delicate then they look."

She glanced up, taking note of the simple surprise upon the Teyrn's face. She shrugged that away.

"We had not the coin to spare on the necessary supplies we would need to maintain such an animal. And," she frowned slightly, "we also discovered that the darkspawn have a particular….taste for horseflesh. Apparently, it's like a delicacy to them. We wardens attract enough attention as it is. With horses in our party…"

"It would draw them in like flies," Fergus nodded, frowning as he glanced back at Bodahn's oxen. "But they do not have the same appetite for oxen or other bovine?"

Chuckling, she shook her head. "Fereldan is not horse rich, as it were. We do, however, have a plethora of cow and ox." She waved a hand imperiously, smugly adding, "Certainly _not _a delicacy."

Laughing, Fergus nodded, glad the young Commander would take the time for such a pedestrian conversation. He glanced around, watching as the others continued to follow the diminutive woman.

Fergus continued to walk alongside the wardens, Zevran and Niall walking directly behind, interjecting into the conversation as they saw fit. Morrigan and Leliana walked behind the men, engaged in their own conversation, their lovely heads bent to each other. Wynne moved from the rear room of the wagon and had taken Fergus' seat beside Bodahn, knitting away at what Fergus presumed were Alistair's socks. As always, the Sten walked the rear, just behind the dwarven pair, who still marveled at the sky, the trees, the openness they now found themselves traversing. If he closed his eyes, Fergus could almost imagine he walked amongst the men and soldiers of Highever, Roland's soft voice adding to the illusion of _home_. But, when he opened his eyes, seeing the very strange mix of companions he found himself among, he could still not shake that feeling. It was slow in forming, not strong, but certainly there. In a group of such varied personalities, races and beliefs, a lone nobleman could well fit in.

He smiled, genuinely. Perhaps for the first time since learning of the fate of his family back at Highever. It faded, however, unable to maintain itself within the morass of hurt and profound sadness. A flicker of vengeance rose in his heart, and his thoughts strayed to Howe, seated within his family's home, and he barely suppressed a snarl.

Adela glanced over at him, having heard the small sound he had thought trapped deep in his throat. Concern flickered over her fine features, and he offered her a small smile, trying to assure he was he well. The girl was perceptive, had dealt with pain herself, and knew it when she saw it. He was healing. But, it would take time. Far more than he had, far more than he would see as they progressed through their quest to stop the Blight.

For now, he would be content with these companions he now traveled with. And, Maker willing, he would find his revenge for himself, for his family, friends, those who had served his family loyally.

Maker willing, he would be the one to put the knife to Rendon Howe's throat and rip it free.

Maker willing.

DA:O

Two days later found them in a valley, surrounded by ledges and cliffs of the foothills of the Frostback Mountains. The air was warm yet not unpleasant, despite the graying sky and swirling clouds overhead. They had bypassed the road that would lead them to Haven, determined to get to Redcliffe as quickly as possible. They had their treaties recognized, now they had to make certain that the Arl kept his end of the bargain.

Adela quelled an uneasy feeling as her thoughts went to the Arl. He had been very displeased with Alistair's proclamation that he would not challenge Anora for the throne. His displeasure only increased with their marriage. Alistair did not seem as bothered by the older man's attitude toward their relationship, pointedly telling his wife that they each had their duties, and that his lay steadfastedly with the wardens and by her side. Smiling up at him, she raised a small hand to pat his stubbly chin, giving him a wide smile as they continued their trek toward Redcliffe.

Pockets of bright sunshine managed to wend through the blight darkened clouds, offering some solace to the group as they continued their journey. As they crested a slight rise, the sounds of battle rose to their ears. Adela turned her head, her sharp ears pinpointing the direction the sounds came from. With a quick order, the elf quickened her pace, the warriors and rogues matching her strides, while the mages hurried to catch up.

As they rounded the bend, they saw the battlefield. The bodies of templars and darkspawn littered the blighted ground, and magic rippled through the air. Standing nearly back to back were the two survivors, facing off against at least a dozen darkspawn: a templar - his armor blackened with darkspawn blood, dented in many areas, his helmet missing to reveal a close cropped blond head and strong features - and a mage dressed in the customary circle robes. The templars great sword slashed out, catching a nearby hurlock in the neck, tossing it away. However, the warrior's movements were slow and heavy, and it was obvious by the time they reached the pair that he was sorely wounded.

The mage's staff jabbed out, catching a grinning genlock in the face, knocking it to the side. As the darkspawn stumbled back, a jet of flame erupted from the mage's weapon, setting the thing aflame, followed closely by a slur cast out by the mage at the dying darkspawn.

As the wardens neared, the templar slumped to the ground, and, with a curse, the mage turned his blond head briefly, taking note of his fallen comrade.

"Bugger," they heard him curse as he spun about, his staff sending forth another gout of flames.

Alistair and Roland rushed forward, attacking the nearby darkspawn with fury as Adela pulled forth an arrow enchanted with fire, and sent it flying at the darkspawn that threatened the stranger mage's back. With a roar, the creature spun about, picking its new target as it rushed from the mage toward the small elf. Calmly, Adela knocked another arrow, and let it fly into the genlock's grinning face.

More darkspawn poured from the surrounding forest, and the Wardens and their companions were now fully engaged in the battle.

Dark, malevolent magic crackled along the air, and Alistair turned, spotting the emissary easily. Snapping his sword out, he quickly beheaded his hurlock adversary and then paced out, racing toward the emissary. The darkspawn mage took note of the approaching human, a grin splitting it's death mask face, arms raising as it began it's spell. Mere yards away, Alistair suddenly stopped, raising his arms over his head in a quick, jerky fashion, white light blasting from his form and enveloping the hurlock spellcaster. As the former-templar-in-training's smite hit the darkspawn, it was sent flying backwards, smashing painfully to the hard ground. As it struggled to rise, the warden ran to it, his sword sweeping down, cleaving it from neck through its torso.

Now in the center of a crowd of darkspawn, Alistair straightened, giving out his great war cry, as he engaged those foes surrounding him.

Morrigan could feel Alistair's templar abilities as they rolled across the air, taking down the enemy spellcaster. Even she had to admit, his skill and training as a templar did come in handy. She scowled as several genlock raced toward her, and, with a malevolent grin, the dark-haired beauty gripped her staff, sending blasts of cold magic out at them. Giving her staff a twirl, she sprinted toward the approaching darkspawn, driving her staff down into the ground, using her momentum to hurtle herself into the air. With a snarl and flex, the beautiful witch's form changed from a svelte young woman into the bloated form of a great, corrupted spider. The genlock stumbled to a horrified halt, trying to reverse their own momentum. It availed them not as Morrigan in her spider form descended upon them, stabbing with sharp legs and sharper mandibles to tear and rend the darkspawn apart.

Magic crackled along the periphery, the clash of metal against metal resounded in the air; arrows whirled and whistled through the air, ending in thuds as targets were found. Soon, the battle ended, the dead - darkspawn and templar - lay scattered across the ground. With a look around to ensure her people were unharmed - and they were - Adela clutched her bow in a small hand and walked with purposeful steps to where the blond mage stood, staring around him in an almost daze. Soft hazel eyes, exhausted and wary, settled upon the approaching elf's determined form. From the corner of his eye, he watched as the tall warrior walked parallel to meet with the elf.

A slight smirk crossed his handsome face, and he held his hands up slightly. "I didn't do it," he quipped, the smirk twisting into a grin.

The elven woman paused, her brows twisting slightly with humor as those bluest of eyes quickly scanned the deceased surrounding the mage. A slight grin upon her face, she stopped and waved a hand before her, encompassing the scene. "Really? You didn't kill these darkspawn?"

The mage straightened, grinning. "Oh, well, yes. I killed most of these darkspawn. The templars," he turned slightly to kick at one of the Chantry warriors that lay, dead, not too far from him. "well, they didn't fare so well, did they? Not that," he turned back to Adela, "I'm terribly upset that they are dead, don't get me wrong. Biff there," he pointed to the templar that had died as they appeared on the scene. "made the funniest gurgling sound when he died."

Alistair sputtered beside her, but Adela could only grin and shake her head, once more taking in the deceased that surrounded the mage. "And you are?" she asked, bringing her attention back to the mage, who was watching her very closely.

"Ah, yes, my manners." He bowed slightly, "I am Anders, dear lady. Sadly, a wanted apostate." He paused, watching, gauging the elf's reaction to his words.

He was surprised when her smile widened even as the huge warrior beside her shifted uncomfortably. "Well met, Anders. I am Adela, Warden Commander of the Grey in Fereldan. And, I really do not care that you are an apostate."

"Ah, pretty and pragmatic, a striking combination," he purred, taking a bold step closer, causing the much smaller elven woman to blink up into his face.

Still smiling, Adela backed up slightly. "This," she placed a small hand upon the warrior's arm, "is Senior Warden Alistair, my second and my husband."

Alistair glared at the other man, and Anders took a cautious step back, then, taking another look at the larger man, a second. "Ah, well, yes. Pleased to meet you, I am certain. Grey Wardens, you say?" he asked, watching as the others moved to join the two Wardens. "Are all of you Wardens?"

"No," Alistair answered as Adela turned to watch the progress of the others, the Sten and Roland helping Bodahn maneuver his wagon around the field. "There are two others, the rest are our companions."

Turning back to the pair, Adela put in, "If you wish to travel with us, you are more than welcome. Another against the darkspawn, especially a mage, would be a great asset to our cause."

Anders was silent for a moment, watching the elf carefully, looking for any indication that she was offering him not acceptance or freedom, but imprisonment and perhaps betrayal. "Why would you ask me to come along with your merry band?" he finally asked, frowning slightly.

Alistair shifted slightly, obviously upset that the mage questioned the elven woman. But, Adela merely watched the mage, her smile relaxed, eyes soft as they explored the mage's face. Instead of directly answering his question, she asked, "How long have you been running?"

The question startled the young mage, and he almost ended upon scowling at the woman. Then, with a sigh, he ran his hand through his hair, which had come loose of its bindings during the battle and now hung limply to his shoulders. "Weeks. This group had caught up to me as I headed to Redcliffe. I was surprised. This wasn't the usual group sent out to locate and bring me back."

"Usual group?" Alistair quipped, frowning, his templar training coming to the fore. "I take it you've escaped the tower before?"

"Oh, certainly. This was my seventh escape. And, my seventh time being caught. Quite the record, you know."

"Gentlemen," both heads turned towards Adela. "How about we carry on this conversation later on? For now, we have disposal duty to see to."

With a frown and a sigh, Alistair nodded, heading off toward their companions to break them up into groups to dispose of the bodies.

"Disposal duty?" Anders asked quietly as he stepped to the elf's side, frowning down at her.

Nodding, she turned her brilliant blue eyes to him and then started walking away. Quickly matching her pace, the robed mage hurried alongside. "We need to burn the bodies - both the darkspawn and human." She motioned for another mage to step to her.

"Niall?" Anders asked as he watched the brown mousy mage approach.

A heavy sigh escaped Niall and Adela suppressed the urge to giggle. "Anders." Niall's tone was heavy with disapproval.

"Yep, me. I am, however, very surprised to you see, of all people, out of the tower. What? Couldn't find an uncharted island anywhere, so you decided to traipse about the countryside with the Grey Wardens?"

A knowing smirk crossed Niall's plain features. "Not traipse along with them. I am a Grey Warden."

As Anders' face registered his surprise, Adela patted Niall on the arm, leaving the pair of mages, certain that Niall would know where best to put Anders to work.


	55. Chapter 55

_Thank you for all of the alerts and reviews that are coming up. I know with DA:2 being released, plus spring fever, writer's block, etc. (and add to that FF's site problems), we've all experienced a lull in reviews and such. I am guilty myself. My thanks for the reviews to: Biff McLaughlin, avekay, CCBug, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Superstar Kid_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 55_

Bars. Iron, gray, hard. That had been the focus of his entire time here. Those hated, awful things.

And the wristbands. No. He could not forget those. Restrictive, restricting, uncomfortable and chafing.

His glare shifted from the bars of his cell to the bands upon his wrists.

But he was most angry at the one he had thought had been his compatriot. Someone he had thought would rescue him from this prison, but had yet to show.

How did he get himself into these troubles?

With a shake of his shaggy head, the young human slumped down, settling upon the floor of his dungeon cell. He knew; he was too gullible, let his feelings get in the way. Sure, he reveled in the magic his friend had taught him. It was the most powerful the young mage had ever felt. He knew snippets of other schools of magic; practitioner of all, master of none. His teachers had despaired that he would never master a school of magic. The circle discouraged mages who did not master any school, but dabbled in all. They thought that such mages lacked focus, and were a danger to not only themselves but others.

He shook his head, scowling. Well, he had mastered a school. Just because the Chantry did not approve of that school….he slumped further down, curling around himself in despair.

Tranquility may have been better than this. He did not know his fate as of yet. The good Arl had decided to keep the blood mage sequestered in his dungeons, and no one - _no one _- had been down to see him since he had been discovered, other than the servant who brought him his meals, emptied his chamber pot, or brought bathing implements to him. At least he had not been forgotten. At least, not by the noble he had been sent to kill.

Well, he had had one visitor, months prior, but it had not been from someone he would have ever wished to see again in this lifetime.

A groan escaped Jowan's lips as he thought of how he had been so duped, by the man he had thought was his friend. How could he have allowed himself to be so fooled? All those years of friendship, where they a lie?

His thoughts, as they inevitably did, went to Lilly, the young initiate he had tricked into helping him escape. Tricked? He shook his head. That was how it had started, just a means to get out of that blasted tower. However, somewhere, along the way, he had fallen in love with the plain faced, sweet voiced, kind hearted young woman. And suddenly, he found himself believing in the lies he had told her.

Would being a farmer really have been so bad?

But, it had all gone wrong. His friend, Artemis Surana, had betrayed him, having told the First Enchanter of their plans of escape.

The young mage shook his head, lifting his face to stare once more at the bars of his cell. He could not really blame Artemis. After all, Jowan had never really been much of a friend. And the young elf had known of Jowan's friendship with Amell…

A long, sorrowful sigh escaped his thin lips as he thought of his friend, Amell. Well, maybe not his friend. After all, he continued to languish in this prison, at his behest, and no one had made an effort to free him.

It was just punishment was it not? After all, he did not know of Lilly's fate. Had they really taken her to Aeonar? And, what of his treacherous friend, Surana? What had happened to him? He knew that the elf had gone off with the Wardens, but that was all he knew. And, despite believing Surana had betrayed him, he hoped that his young former friend was alright.

After all, despite the betrayal, Jowan was at least honest enough with himself to know that Artemis' involvement had been entirely his fault.

Well, maybe he could blame Amell for that as well.

With such a thought, he decided he would rather place all of the blame solely upon Amell's head, that he was just as poor a dupe as Lilly or Artemis had been.

The thought did not help make the young mage feel much better.

DA:O

Bright sunshine filled the room from the numerous windows. A pale hand rose to push aside the heavy curtains, allowing more of the light to flood the room, the hand moving from the curtain to skim lightly over the smooth glass of the portal. That hand left the glass, moving to smooth over the fine cloth of her gown, then raised to pat lightly at her simply coifed blond hair. Dark blue eyes stared out of the window, down into the courtyard, where the Crown's soldiers trained and drilled, officers walking amongst the simple soldiers, barking orders as the sergeants brought them through their drills. With a sigh, Anora Theirin, Queen of Fereldan, stepped back, turning to face the desk that was central most to her office. With small, regal steps, she moved to the desk, and settled into its comfortable chair, staring numbly at the few papers that lay in neat piles upon the desk's hard surface.

Not that there was much for her to do. No. Arawn and Howe each saw that most of the correspondences meant for her were redirected to her father for his scrutiny and signature. _How did it end up like this_? She had to wonder. She was queen. And yet, here she sat, with these insignificant correspondences that were allowed to get to her desk, awaiting for her perusal and signature.

Frowning, she picked up one missive, that frown deepening as she read yet another condolence letter from one of the lesser nobles. Almost a year later, and still she received the well wishes and sympathies of nobles.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she quickly placed the missive back down into its pile. Even after all these months, she missed Cailan. Her gaze turned back to the windows, blinking at the bright sunlight. If he had survived Ostagar…she shook her head, completely unsure how she was going to be able to pull back the powerbase to herself, as it should be. She had allowed her father to usurp her position during her initial grief. And Loghain, bolstered by the wily Arl Howe and his advisor, Arawn, had taken the opportunity presented to him and now ran the country.

She shook her head. But, in doing so, he and the others all but ignored the threat of the Blight. Those brilliant blue eyes closed as tears trickled down her cheeks. Would there even be a Fereldan left for her to rule? If she could not think of how to regain her position, she fearfully doubted there would be.

DA:O

The young Mother stared up into the peaceful features of Andraste, trying to pluck from the emotionless façade an answer, any answer. None were forthcoming, and the usual peace that would envelope the priestess was not forthcoming, either.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes, raising a hand to rub wearily at her eyes.

Others sat in nearby pews, muttering prayers to the Maker, or silently sitting, as she, staring up into the peaceful features of the Maker's Bride. She wondered if any of her fellow parishioners had received any answers, any sense of peace for their own troubles. Or, if like she, they remained confused, their hearts and minds in turmoil.

She pushed herself up, settling upon the pew behind her, back stiff as she continued to stare up into the statue's face. Since that day in the alienage, nearly a year prior, she had felt the unease settle into her heart, upon her mind, in her very soul. That such an action could be taken, with a witness from the Chantry present no less, still troubled young Mother Boann.

The resulting purge of the Alienage had only served to unsettle the cleric even further. Yet, the Grand Cleric, and other more senior mothers, refused to step in on behalf of the elves, sighting Lord's Rights. When Mother Boann had sited that those Orlesian laws no longer held sway in Fereldan, it was pointed out that they had never been stricken from the law books, and thus, it was Lord Vaughn's right to seek out the company of the lesser peoples of the Alienage. That they dared fight back had only sealed their own fates.

Boann rubbed her eyes once more, turning in her seat slightly as the sound of armored feet resounded within the silence of the vast chamber. A knight walked, with purposeful steps, down the isle, his blue eyes scanning the forms in the pews, his gray-blond hair pulled back to reveal a face set in determined countenance. Armor gleamed in the candlelight and finally, he stopped at her pew. Turning his stern eyes to her, they softened.

"Mother Boann?" the knight asked in a quiet, steady voice.

Nodding, she whispered, "I am."

The knight smiled, bending down slightly so that his words could only be heard by her. "I am Ser Landry. I believe you and I have mutual friends."

Confusion briefly flickered across the young Mother's face. The knight smiled as he took a seat next to the cleric.

DA:O

His back was stiff from lying upon the hard, wooden floor of his cage, and he groaned in protest as he moved to stretch out his limbs. There was a slight commotion from the other cages, and he slowly opened his eyes, gummy from lack of sleep, and blinked. The doors to the huge room their cages were kept in opened, and several of their captors and their guards entered, leading along an older man.

A scowl formed at his brow, and the elven man pushed himself quickly to his feet. He knew the man their captors led in! He watched as their leader, a man wearing elaborate robes marking him a mage, stepped over to the elder elf, speaking to him in low, almost friendly tones. The elder elf merely watched him with calm eyes, not answering but not offering any other resistance. The mage actually smiled at the other before indicating that he be placed in the same cage as himself.

As the guards gently led the elder elf into the cage, the mage turned, stepping to stand before him. Dark eyes skimmed over his haggard form, and he frowned. "You have not been eating," the mage scolded, frowning deeply.

He shrugged. "I eat when hungry," he said insolently, scowling at the human before him.

The mage's eyes swept out, settling upon the cage containing the children, not far from his own. Those eyes narrowed as he turned his attention back to him. "You have been giving your fare to the younglings, I take it." It was not a question, and he saw no point in denying it. Yet, he did not voice his answer, merely stood, staring at the mage, defiant.

Appreciation and humor crossed the mage's face, and he nodded. Calling over a guard, the mage stated, "Make certain that an amount equal to the one given to this one," he pointed a the blond elf, "gets added to the fare to the younglings. We cannot afford for this one to starve himself, now, can we?"

The guard nodded once, and left. The mage turned back. "Satisfied, my stubborn friend?"

Nelaros glared at the mage, but then softened the look. With a curt nod, he remained standing, glaring at the blood mage. "Ah, my friend in Tevinter will be well pleased with you," he murmured as he turned to survey the elder elf just placed within Nelaros' cage. "And I know another who would rejoice at having the talent of the accomplished Cyrion Tabris in his stables."

With those words, the mage turned and left, leaving the elves thus caged to murmur and exclaim at the inclusion of one of their leaders to the slave pens.

Sighing, Nelaros turned back to the man who was to have been his father-in-law.

"Master Tabris," he said as he stepped nearer.

Cyrion clapped a strong hand to Nelaros' shoulder. "Glad I am to see you alive, my son," the elder man exclaimed before pulling the younger into a tight hug. Relief swept over the young man, for he had feared the elder man would blame him for the failure of the wedding.

"As am I to see you, ser," Nelaros muttered as they pulled away.

The elves from the other cages were now shouting, trying to get Cyrion's attention. The elf turned to the others, raising his hands for silence. They complied quickly.

"We must maintain calm," Cyrion quietly said, his eyes darting to the doors, expecting the return of the Tevinters at any moment. "Do not fight them. They are too well armed and have too firm a foothold in the Alienage."

"Don't fight?" one young elf scoffed, his eyes narrowed in anger and hatred. "They mean to enslave us…"

Cyrion frowned. "Easy, Artan. Easy. Yes, they mean to enslave us. However, at the moment, we must comply. Or do you wish to see Sara and Seth harmed by a revolt we could not hope to win?"

Artan, the young elf, eased at the names of his wife and infant son. Others nodded, accepting Cyrion's sage advice, although from the looks upon their faces, none were pleased.

The artist nodded his gray head at the young elf, a sad smile upon his face. "We all have loved ones that could come to harm. Do not doubt for a moment that was why we were chosen. We all have family, friends, loved ones still free in the Alienage. And, it will be through them that we will be made to suffer."

"They cannot afford to harm their merchandise," Nelaros muttered, scowling fiercely.

"I cannot believe that the guard does nothing!" another young elf, this one with red hair and fierce green eyes, shouted, scowling at Tabris.

"Quiet, Martan," a pretty young woman scolded. "Do not doubt a moment that Michael is not seeking to help us all!"

"Quiet yourself, Naomi," Martan snarled back. "You shem-loving hussy…"

"Calm yourself immediately, Martan!" Cyrion scolded, and the young elf quieted in the face of an elder's ire. "We all know that Sergeant Kylon would be doing his utmost to see to the issue of the Alienage. If he were allowed to."

"What do you mean, Cyrion?" an older woman asked, her arms tight around the shoulders of a young girl.

Pressing fingers to his eyes, Cyrion stepped nearer to the bars, resting his head against them. "Think, everyone. Have we seen any of the city guard since the wedding?" He lifted his face, and skimmed over each adult face, watching as thoughtful confusion crossed each feature. "No. All we had seen have been the Arl's personal guard. That means, that none of what has happened here - not the purge, not the barring, not the allowance of the Tevinters within - has been sanctioned officially. To do so would involve the Crown. And, I am certain, the Arl of Denerim does not wish to do that."

"So, what can we do?" the same woman asked, her arms tightening, crushing the child closer against her.

"Remain calm, Kira, just remain calm. It is all we can do to ensure our safety as well as that of those we love."

DA:O

Calm blue eyes stared, unseeing, at the noble as he entered the room. Howe paused in his steps, frowning over to where Loghain impassively sat. A questioning look crossed his rat-like features as he continued to stand beside Arawn.

And still, Loghain made no movement, issued no word, made no sign whatsoever that he was even alive.

"He seems rather…unusually passive this day," Howe smirked at his friend, although he was still confused. Even when controlled by blood magic, the taciturn Teyrn would still follow Howe's movements with those cold eyes, or maintain that perpetual scowl upon his broad features. This day, the Hero of River Dane's features were a flat, blank canvas awaiting the painter's brush strokes to add life to.

The blood mage smiled as he poured out a brandy, offering it to his fellow conspirator. "Come with me," he said, stepping over to the where the Teyrn sat upon the throne. A long fingered hand swept out, turning Loghain's head. Howe stepped back, awaiting a backlash of fury from the man. He straightened, taking a step nearer, as the Teyrn remained quiet as Arawn brushed up his long, black hair. A low whistle escaped Howe's thin lips as he surveyed the blue-white of the brand that had been scorched into the Teyrn's flesh, just along his hairline, slender tendrils veining upwards along the man's scalp.

"What is that?" the noble asked before taking a sip of the brandy the mage had poured him.

Chuckling, Arawn released the hair and straightened the Teyrn's collar, stepping away and turning his back to the man. "A lyrium brand. Caladrius, the Tevinter magister that is settling issues in the Alienage, was kind enough to assist me with it." Arawn's blue eyes shifted back to the Teyrn before completely dismissing him. "He apprenticed under a magister that specialized in such magic. Apparently, that elf we sold him was well worth the cost of the lyrium brand. He believes his former master would be very pleased to acquire such a strong, skilled elf to add to his stable."

Howe took another sip, turning his eyes once to the Teyrn, and then back to his friend. "So, that troublesome elf did prove to be of value after all."

Smiling, Arawn nodded. "Indeed he did. Now, our Teyrn will prove completely malleable. I can issue him orders once, and, once the brand is activated, there is no potential for his breaking free of the hold. As it is burned, quite literally, into his skin."

"Brilliant," Howe praised, smirking as he settled into a nearby chair as Arawn refilled his own snifter.

Settling into his own seat, the blood mage took a careful sip of his brandy, relishing the burn as it flowed down his throat. "I've another matter to be taken care of," the mage said as he swirled his glass, watching as the thick liquor coated the interior of the glass. "I would expect it to be taken care of immediately."

"Oh?" Howe asked, his eyes shifting to the doorway as his thoughts wandered to his own residence, where Elissa awaited him, most likely still in bed, languishing about for his return.

"Worry not, my friend," Arawn offered Howe a smile before taking another sip. "The matter is well in hand."

Howe merely stared at his friend, eyes narrowing only slightly. Arawn returned the look, eyes wide with feigned innocence, that knowing smirk twisting at the corners of his mouth. "Fear not, my friend," Arawn chuckled, taking another pull on his glass. "I am merely pulling in some of my resources, that is all."

An eyebrow rose at that, but Howe asked nothing more, knowing fully that, despite his friendship with Arawn, the blood mage continued to hold many things close to his chest. He did not think for a moment that the mage would keep anything important from him. That way would lead to too many misunderstandings in a plot as complicated and delicate as the one they sought to complete. The mage merely needed to keep some things to himself.

His face relaxed, and he offered the mage a small smile, raising his glass to his fellow conspirator.

DA:O

"Are you certain they will pass this way?" the tall, broad shouldered man asked, his tawny eyes scanning the horizon, a strong hand flexing over the sword holstered at his hip.

Another set of eyes, a darker shade of gold, swept the same horizon, a hand rising to brush the great mane of blond hair from his eyes. "The wind tells me it is so."

A deep chuckle rose from the throat of his companion, and the leather clad warrior turned his attention back to his fellows behind them, men and women dressed in similar leathers, each carrying a sword and shield or daggers, few with bows. Although they were setting camp, their postures did not betray any lax, only a battle readiness those used to fighting for their lives maintained, even at their most relaxed. The shaggy head nodded, and then turned back to his companion.

"Can you not feel it, my friend?" he asked after a moment's pause. "The wind, the animals, the very earth itself speaks of their coming."

His fellow paused, lifting his dark head and tawny eyes to the Blight ridden sky, heavy lids closing over those orbs. "I can taste it." He finally remarked, opening his eyes to turn back to his leader.

Smiling, the huge blond turned away, pacing with deliberate steps to the campsite, his companion turning to match his pace. "Then it shall be so."

DA:O

The darkspawn fell, it's head cleaved neatly from its shoulders. Turning, the dark warrior's greatsword spun out, well away from his body, as he completed the circuit, cleaving deeply into the chest of a second hurlock, then leading on to decapitate a genlock. Satisfied, the warrior paused, a deep scowl upon his face, as he surveyed the wreckage he and his had wrought.

No darkspawn - hurlock, genlock, ogre or emissary - withstood the maelstrom of violence that was he and his warriors.

None of his lay upon the tainted ground.

He straightened, rising to his full height, standing nearer to seven feet than six. Black hair hung in tight braids down his back, and he absent mindedly ran a thick finger along the raven tattoo that adorned his forehead.

Other warriors, of similar stance and coloring, each sporting the same tattoo upon their foreheads, stalked to where their leader stood, each set of dark eyes scanning the area, alert to any further foe.

"All have fallen to our blades," one warrior, a young man barely out of his youth, remarked, pride puffing his massive, barrel like chest out further.

The leader smirked at the young man, allowing the moment of pride to swell within the young man's heart. That pride, coupled with the great skill he had displayed during this battle, would serve him well in later battles.

"Come," the warrior indicated with a wave of his hand. "We have some distance yet to cover." A vicious grin crossed his dark face. "Perhaps we will kill enough darkspawn that shall send the Archdemon back to its dark lair, alone and helpless! Awaiting the blade of the Wardens!"

Hoots and wolf whistles accompanied Apumayta's grand statements and the warriors turned as one, trotting off deeper into the wilderness around them, seeking out more foes' blood with which to wet their blades.


	56. Chapter 56

_Hmmm…the chapters are finally coming along nicely. I apologize to those readers who are following my other stories. I really do have the next chapters at the very least started, but my muse - who was being very naughty this past month - has decided to spent most of her energies upon this story. I should, ah, probably update my profile._

_My thanks, as always, to those who read, lurk, alert, favorite, and most especially review. I know that there is a plethora of new stories (esp. with DA:2 still being so very new), and I always appreciate when my stories continue to get attention. Mutive, Shakespira, thanks for taking the time to send me your reviews for the previous chapter._

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 56_

Adela glanced over to where Alistair lay, one arm thrown casually across his eyes, the other on his chest. She knew very well he was awake. Awake and thinking. She moved closer to him, pressing herself against the upper part of his crossed arm as she curled her body around him. He offered a small smile beneath the arm across his face, but still did not move. That smile faded fairly quickly, however.

Maybe he was more brooding than thinking, Adela thought as she continued to lay next to her husband, closing her eyes as she waited as he continued to gather his thoughts. If he needed to talk them out, he would. For now, she would give him the space to think and work it through himself.

She knew eventually he would come to her.

DA:O

He did not want to admit it, especially not to Adela, but he was nervous about meeting with the Arl once more. The last time they had been there, months prior, the older man had tried in vain to convince Alistair to put Adela aside and take up the throne. He had insisted that it did no justice to Fereldan to continue to let one of common blood reign upon the throne, without a proper heir from the Theirin line to claim it later on. Alistair could remember quite well the anger he had felt at Eamon's words, and he had never spoken of them to Adela.

His thoughts and worries, however, did not rest solely upon the shoulders of the Arl of Redcliffe. He had found that, the closer they came to Redcliffe, the closer their final goal of having gathered their armies and setting out to Denerim to thusly lay claim to the armies of the land, the more concerned he became for this other son of Maric. Another half-brother. The Blood Mage.

A shiver went through him as he wondered just how many other Bastards of Maric were out in the world, waiting for the opportunity to claim the throne for their own?

He knew that Adela was concerned over this complication, uncertain how to proceed against the man who could very well have as legitimate claim to the throne as he had. However, as a mage, his claim would be weakened. But, if the nobles were much like Eamon, only seeking to have one of Calenhad's line with his ass upon the royal seat, that fact alone may not be enough to keep the man from gaining his power hold.

To ensure that Anora managed to keep her own position, they had to have proof that the man was a blood mage. It would be the only way to convince the nobles not to override any objection from the Chantry and the more common folks. An heir of Maric or not, being a blood mage would negate any claim the man had to the throne.

Or so that was Alistair's hope.

Proving the man a blood mage may prove a bit more problematic, if the man was smart. And, being able to infiltrate the royal compound, take hold of Loghain as a blood thrall, and ally himself with who knows how many within the noble circle certainly proved that the man was intelligent, savvy and more than a little ruthless.

A small groan escaped his lips and he moved his arm to rub at his tired eyes. He felt Adela's warmth against his side and he moved his hand completely to stare down at her sleeping form. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arm about her small figure, pulling the blanket tighter about her shoulders.

He knew that his wife had similar concerns regarding the blood mage in the royals' midst. She also worried over the gathering armies, the knowledge that the Archdemon and its hoard could erupt from the earth at any point…pretty much, she worried about everything. There were nights when she barely slept. Most nights were spent discussing their plans and her worries, but Alistair knew very well that other nights saw his wife laying in his arms, wide awake, her worries and concerns overtaking her, hijacking her sleep.

Arms tightened about her slender form, and he bent his head to kiss the top of her blond head. He stretched out his senses to her, frowning as he, as had been happening more often of late, was unable to sense his wife. It was something he had been meaning to bring to her attention, but had yet to do so. He had been able to sense Niall and Roland, through the shared taint. Doing so had enabled him to locate them in battle, sense when they were having difficulty. And, on the part of the other wardens, they had used their connection to the Second as a means of rushing to his aid, or Niall knowing to cast a healing upon the young warrior.

Not being able to sense Adela, especially in battle, worried the young man.

He should have awoken her to discuss this, but she had only just fallen asleep, having been worrying all day the nearer to Redcliffe their group got. Tomorrow, he promised himself as he snuggled down closer to his wife. With that thought, he slipped into a light sleep, an attempt to garner what rest he could while avoiding the nightmares of darkspawn and archdemons.

DA:O

What a strange group of people he ended up with. Anders grinned as he spooned porridge into his bowl, taking a seat next to the pretty Warden Commander. Hazel eyes blinked in the sunshine as he tilted his face to the sky. Despite having been weeks away from the tower, he never tired of the feel of fresh air upon his face nor the heat of the sun upon his skin.

He had been slightly disappointed that the elven warden was married. And to the very handsome and strong fellow warden as well. He never poached, and, figuring that Alistair could break him in half if he even attempted mild flirtation, he had turned his attention next to the gorgeous, raven haired apostate with the acerbic tongue. He learned, almost immediately, that the group's other beauty in residence - the red haired songbird - had claims upon the lovely witch, and his disappointment only escalated.

Wynne was far too old, far too familiar, and far too much a pain in his ass to even consider even a flirtatious smile at, and the dwarven lass - although sweet and very cute - was far too skittish for his tastes. Add to that fact the red haired dwarven warrior - Oghren - had seemed to have taken an almost fatherly concern for the cute dwarf, and Anders was down to the men in the group.

Not that he minded too much for that, either. Although he did prefer women, men had their own appeal.

However, he found himself left out in the cold there as well.

The handsome elf, Zevran, was Niall's bedmate, and Anders found himself yet again cursing the brunette mage his luck. The blond apostate most certainly did not have a death wish, and avoided any flirtation with either the Qunari or the dwarven male. That left either the handsome red haired warrior, Roland or the very distinguished nobleman, the Teyrn of Highever.

His sights thus set, Anders nodded his good morning to Adela, finished his breakfast, and sauntered to where the warrior stood, talking quietly with the dwarven merchant.

DA:O

"Maker's breath!" Roland exclaimed as he stepped away from the blond. "What is it with you mages?"

Chuckling, Anders replied, "Why? What is wrong with loving someone just because they are the same as you?"

The red headed warrior scowled, running a hand through his hair. Why did he attract this kind of attention? "Look, Anders," he began slowly, his green eyes glancing quickly to where Adela sat by Alistair's side, "I'm really, ah, flattered that you find me…no, ah…" the warrior stumbled, and Anders raised a hand, seeking to ease the young man's discomfort.

"Look, I'm sorry," Anders smiled with a shrug, "It's obvious that you don't feel the same way. And, that's fine. I, too, prefer the fairer sex, but it appears that this group offers little in the way of available females."

"Well, why me?" Roland had to ask, recalling how persistent Artemis had been in his pursuit of him. "Why not, say…" he skimmed over the group, frowning, "Oghren?"

Snorting with laughter, Anders shook his head. "No thank you! I happen to like my balls where they are - firmly attached to my body!"

Nodding, his eyes went to the Sten. "Ever want to try something more exotic?" the warrior asked, allowing a grin to cross his handsome face, relaxing slightly as he realized the mage could take no for an answer.

Anders' eyes went to the huge Qunari and he shook his head. "Do you think I have a death wish?" He turned to look the man directly in the eye. "Even if I thought he would be so inclined, I doubt I'd survive the encounter."

Shrugging, Roland said, "Well, then, I guess you are all out of luck."

But, Anders did not seem to think so as his gaze settled upon the young Teyrn of Highever. Roland's eyes followed his path, and he immediately started shaking his head in the negative. "No, no, no! Fergus Cousland does not…swing that way!" Despite the emphasis in his words, Roland kept his tone quiet, afraid others would hear this rather unconventional and rather silly conversation.

"Oh?" Anders turned back to the warrior, a smirk upon his lips. "How do you know?"

"He was married," The young warden stated matter-of-factly. "And, I've known Fergus almost my entire life. I can tell you that he only enjoys the company of females."

"You so sure?" Anders asked, a challenging tone in his voice.

Roland smirked at the other man, recalling an incident with Fergus and Thomas Howe. The Howe noble had barely managed to walk away from his attempt at flirtation with the noble in question. "I know if as _bloody _fact."

A blond brow twitched upwards, and Anders' hazel eyes sought out the tall, strong form of the nobleman. His sight then shifted back to the smirking face of his companion. He did not know these people very well. And the warden had been in the service of the Cousland family for most of his life. Anders could not tell, however, if the young warrior was challenging him to attempt a flirtation with the young noble, or if he was truly attempting to warn him off such an attempt. Turning back to watch the Teyrn, Anders decided he would give Roland the benefit of the doubt at this point in time. After all, it had not been all that long since he had last had a companion sharing his bed. He could afford to be patient.

And, besides, they would be in Redcliffe within days. He knew of a certain barmaid at the local tavern…

Puffing out a sigh, the mage shrugged his shoulders. "Fine, fine. I'll leave him alone." He turned back to the handsome warden, unable to just let it go at that. Batting his long lashes, he said, "However, if you ever decide that you want to expand your horizons…"

With a snarl and snort, Roland shook his head, walking away from the flirtatious mage.

Really! What was it with these mages?

DA:O

With near silent footfalls, the elf stealthy stole across the dirt covered floor. She smirked as she glanced back to the ladder that led upwards, to the mill, the nearly forgotten and little used tunnel the perfect means of egress available. Spiders scuttled overhead, re-spinning their webs as the rats scurried across the floor, snickering and chattering at the invasion of their refuge.

She paused at the door, a slender hand skimming lightly over its surface, not quite touching as she sought traps that should have been in place, but were not. A mild snort escaped her nose. Amateurs!

But, what else could she expect? She firmly believed that the Fereldans' unnatural love of their dogs came from their being able to trace their ancestry back to the werewolves. What couth and ingenuity could be gained from such heritage?

Carefully, she turned the knob, pulling the heavy door open, stopping as a creaking sound threatened from the hinges. A frown crossed the elven woman's face, and she nimbly slipped through the opening, her sharp eyes scanning the area before she slipped into the surrounding shadows.

Moving carefully to the cell, she paused, listening to the sounds of breathing coming from therein. She had to wonder why she had been assigned this task. Better to let the fool rot in his prison, a just reward for failing at his assignment. However, her employer was of another frame of mind, and the gold he paid her was good. Too good to refuse.

Add to that the chaos she was allowed to sow in the midst of his own grand schemes, and this assignment was more acceptable to her mind.

Slipping from the shadows, she stood before the bars, her eyes watching the slumped form of the disheveled figure therein. Brown hair hung in lank locks in front of his closed eyes, arms wrapped around bent knees, the robe he wore, while clean, threadbare and worn. He seemed so forlorn, absolutely pathetic, that she almost - almost - felt sorry for the young mage. However, that feeling dissipated quickly.

Carefully, she slipped her lock pick tools from her brown hair, and quietly went to work on the lock.

As the final tumbler clicked into place, the young man's head snapped up, his dark eyes fixing instantly upon the features of the lovely elven woman who stood at the entrance of his cell. He raised a hand and rubbed at his tired eyes. Only when he opened them a second time did he realize that the door to his cell was open.

With a thick Orlesian accent, the elf stepped forward, offering a slender hand down to the young man. "Come," she instructed. "It seems our master has called you home."

DA:O

Less than a week from Redcliffe found the Wardens and their companions camped against the lei of the foothills, protected from the wind that tore through and around the cliffs and ledges. Fergus settled next to Adela, who was eating the rabbit stew the Orlesian bard had prepared that evening. Alistair stood to the side, watching as Roland sparred with the huge Qunari warrior. His brown eyes drifted to watch as Alistair shouted out pointers to his fellow warden, his face alight with humor as the young knight found himself upon the ground, once more, thrown by a powerful blow from the giant.

"You know, Maric had confided in my father about Alistair," Fergus said after a moment, his eyes drifting to the startled expression upon Adela's face. He nodded, "Yes, I know who he is. Anyone who knew Maric could see the resemblance, but," his gaze went back to the young warden. "knowing what I know…"

"How?" Adela asked, frowning. To her knowledge, Cailan had been the only one to know about Alistair. Even he was uncertain if Loghain knew about his half-brother.

Fergus shrugged, turning his face from Adela as the memory of the night Maric confessed to his father about Alistair's existence came to mind. Quietly, he opened his mouth and recounted his impression from that evening. "I was approaching my eighteenth birthday, and Maric had made a visit to our home…"

DA:O

_It was not all that uncommon, for the King to pay a visit to Cousland Castle. The Teyrn and his family were close friends with the royal family, with Fergus and Cailan being of an age. So often had the visits been that there had been gossip among those nobles who were not close to the Crown that the visits were less social and more of an arrangement between the young Prince and even younger daughter of the second most powerful man in all of Fereldan. That had been the hope, as the idea of one of Calenhad's line forming such an alliance with common blood had been most distasteful._

_What was uncommon about this visit was the nature of it - being unannounced as it was. Normally, even if allowing only days before arriving, Maric had the consideration to send out a rider to inform the Teyrn of his upcoming visit. This time, Maric arrived, unheralded, and virtually alone with merely a dozen of his guardsmen._

_If Bryce Cousland had thought anything peculiar about the visit, he had not said a word to his son._

_After a simple meal, the Teyrn and King retired to Bryce's study. In a surprising move, Maric had turned to the young Fergus, inviting him to join the pair of them for drinks. Bryce raised an eyebrow at that, but allowed Fergus to so attend them. There had been rare occasions where the young man had been allowed to partake of wine, but those occasions were rare and normally under special circumstances._

_Apparently Bryce felt an invitation from the King to join them was one of those circumstances._

_Bryce and Maric had settled into comfortable chairs, after filling their glasses with brandy and whiskey. Fergus, uncertain what he should do, found a chair just beyond the older men's seats, and settled down, forgetting for a moment that he had been allowed to take a drink for himself. He was more interested in Maric, who appeared haggard and almost mournful. This was a surprise to the young man, as he had only always seen the heroic king jubilant, smiling, or at least appearing far more put together than he currently was._

_Well, other than when Queen Rowan had passed on, and the years that had followed her death. But, Fergus had been too young to take real notice of that transformation in the king._

_Taking a sip of his brandy, Bryce's gray-blue eyes watched as Maric simply stared at his whiskey, a frown upon his face, brows furrowed in thought. The Teyrn glanced over to his son, who met his eyes, brows upraised in question. Nudging forward with his chin, the Teyrn indicated for his son to get himself a glass as the pair waited for whatever it was that Maric felt the need to discuss._

_Many minutes passed as the trio sat in silence, the king gathering his thoughts, Fergus confused by it all. Bryce, however, sat, patiently, sipping at his drink, just allowing the silence to settle further as he waited for his friend to find his voice. Finally, with a sigh, Maric took a strong haul on his drink, barely blinking as the strong liquor flowed down his throat._

"_You have always been a good friend, Bryce," Maric started, raising his eyes to fix upon his friend's face._

_A quirk of a smile crossed Bryce's face. "So, what bad news are you to deliver to me this time, old friend?"_

_But Maric shook his blond head, sighing as he pushed his upper body forward, resting his elbows upon his knees. "Not bad news, so to speak," the king started, his eyes skimming over Bryce's form, settling upon Fergus for a moment, before continuing their trek to the ceiling. "I am…at a loss and need your sage advice. Or, at the very least," he took another haul, a rueful smile upon his lips, "an ear to whine at that is connected to a mouth that will not always scowl at me in disapproval."_

_Realization lit Bryce's eyes, and the man nodded, taking another sip. "So, it's something you cannot say to Loghain." It was not a question, but a knowing statement. _

_Bryce held great respect for Loghain. The man was a hero, a good man, and ruled his teyrnir well, having a unique understanding of just what the 'common man' struggled with. He had long earned Bryce's respect during the rebellion, and later on during Landsmeets when the former commoner met great opposition from the noble-born of Fereldan. Highever had always maintained an unofficial alliance with Gwaren, much to the chagrin of the other nobles in the Landsmeet. _

_However, Bryce also knew the man to be taciturn, petulant, and overly critical of their king. Honestly was one thing, but to, at time, publicly dress down one's sovereign…some things were just not done, regardless of how close you were to the man._

_It sometimes broke down the respect of the other nobles to see one born a commoner take such stances against their monarch._

_Maric nodded his head, sighing deeply. "I have made a grave mistake, made a promise that I should never have. And, I am now at a loss as to how to correct it."_

"_What kind of promise?" Bryce prompted, frowning as he set his glass down upon a nearby stand. _

_Fergus sipped at his wine, frowning as his father sat, studying their king, awaiting a reply. He could not recall a time when he had seen Maric appear as ashamed of himself as he now was._

_The image did not settle well with the young man._

"_I have another son," Maric blurted before draining his glass, raising his eyes to look into Bryce's shocked face. "His name is Alistair, and he is ten years of age."_

"_Nice trick, keeping him secret," Bryce muttered, frowning slightly, upset that after all of this time, after their friendship of decades, Maric had not seen fit to let him know this little piece of news. _

_Snorting, Maric shook his head. "No real trick. His mother brought him to me when he was a babe, asked me to take him, but not to raise him or acknowledge him. So, I passed him on to another I had hoped would see right by him."_

_Although Fergus could tell his father was brimming with curiosity, Bryce's next question was merely, "And who would that be, my friend?"_

_Blue eyes shimmered with tears, and Fergus wondered just how much Maric had to drink before they had settled into the study. "Eamon."_

_Running a hand through his graying hair, Bryce rose from his seat, pacing between his chair and that of Maric. The king frowned, rising to refill his glass. Maric's blue eyes briefly met Fergus' confused stare before settling back down._

"_Eamon?" Bryce said once he found his voice. "Why would you send the boy to him?" He turned to face his king, his friend. "If you could not take the boy yourself, you could have left him with me."_

"_I did not want to involve you," Maric replied, lamely. With a shrug, trying to avoid the incredulous look upon his old friend's face, he rose, stepping to his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Had anyone found out, they would assume you took in my son as a means to solidify your power base."_

_A harsh laugh escaped Bryce's lips. "Maric, my dear, dear friend. What power base do I need to 'solidify'? Our family is second only to yours, and we are more than content with our position within Fereldan politics."_

"_It was a…rushed decision," Maric admitted, bowing his head slightly. "One not completely thought out."_

"_Does Loghain know about the boy's existence?" Bryce asked, turning from Maric to resume his seat. _

_With a shrug, Maric settled back down. "I have never said anything to him."_

"_And Eamon certainly will not," Bryce replied. _

_Fergus watched as Bryce settled his back against his chair, his glass back in hand, raised halfway to his lips. A finger settled at his chin, and he assumed the pose he and his mother laughingly called his 'Thoughtful Pose'. His eyes clearing, Bryce asked, "What has transpired that you need to bring this to my attention now?"_

_Fingers pinching at his eyes, Maric replied in a strained voice, "Apparently, Eamon's wife is having issues with the lad…"_

_Gray-blue eyes flashed, and Bryce once again found his feet. "Eamon's _Orlesian _wife is having issues with _your _son?" He began to pace. "That Eamon had the ill sense to marry such a…"_

"_Easy my friend," Maric actually chuckled. "You are beginning to sound like Loghain."_

"_At least Loghain has more sense than Guerrin," Bryce shot back. He eased back when he saw the pain flash in Maric's eyes. It was well known that Eamon's marriage to an Orlesian noblewoman was a sore spot for the King, and many other nobles, Bryce Cousland included. Due to the marriage, many nobles had distanced themselves from the Arl. Being his wife's brother, however, Maric had not had that option._

_Especially not when his youngest son was in the man's care._

"_So," Bryce prompted, trying to keep his voice calm. "What _issues _does his wife have with the lad?"_

_Shrugging, Maric settled back into the chair, yet he remained stiff and uncomfortable. "I have no idea. Eamon won't tell me all of it. Only that his presence makes her uncomfortable."_

"_Fine," Bryce said, slamming his glass down on the sidebar, causing Fergus to flinch. "Bring the boy here. We will raise him and ready him for the world…"_

"_Bryce, it is not that simple…"_

"_Yes, yes it is, Maric," Bryce turned to his friend, his eyes kind and understanding. "I'll not fault you your decision to bring the boy to Eamon. He is family, after all. However, if his wife is causing things to be difficult for the lad, you need to remove him immediately! Regardless of whether you acknowledge him or not, makes no difference. He is of the line of Calenhad, and deserves better than what he more than likely…" here, the Teyrn stopped, his eyes going wide._

_Maric's head whipped up, staring into his friend's bewildered face. That face hardened, and he now glared at his friend. "The lad…." Fergus barely recognized his father's voice as anger and fury threatened to overtake his normally calm tones. "That's the lad Eamon has…banished to the stables, isn't it?"_

_An angry, confused scowl formed on Maric's face. "What are you talking about, Bryce?"_

_The Teyrn was once more on his feet, and Fergus had to push his own chair back to keep out of his father's angry path. "I was there, at Redcliffe, two seasons past. There was a young boy, blond, but small, actually sleeping in the stables. I had questioned Eamon about the lad, but he said he was a foundling that preferred to sleep with the animals. He never let me get near to the child, always sending him off on some errand or another." His eyes settled upon Maric's now enraged features. "I would bet Amaranthine's tithes that that 'foundling' is your son."_

_Bryce's eyes searched Maric's stunned features. "You mean you did not know," he said, frowning again at his friend._

_The blond king shook his head. "I have only seen the lad once, when he was younger. He was in the castle, and I recall Cailan sweeping past the boy, exclaiming something about the armory." That blond head tipped down, staring at his clasped hands, silent._

"_Maric," Bryce's voice was strong, determined, yet gentle when speaking to his friend. "Bring the lad here. We'll finish his education, his rearing. We will keep his identity secret. Just get him away from Eamon."_

_With a nod, Maric rose, more determined than he had been when he had first arrived. Nodding his head again, he strode to the door. "Thank you, my friend," Maric said, turning to look at the Teyrn. "We'll leave first thing in the morning. I shall bring the lad here."_

DA:O

Adela stared at Fergus, stunned. The young Teyrn shook his head.

"Apparently, Eamon had already sent Alistair off to the Chantry. Maric could not risk a scandal by pulling him from the Grand Cleric's care, and so left him there." His dark eyes sought out Alistair once more.

"I remember Father being livid at the fate Eamon had decided for the boy he was supposed to have cared for." Fergus actually chuckled slightly. "I recall Father not speaking with Maric for weeks afterwards, while he researched for himself whether he could pull the boy from the Chantry's care." He shrugged. "Apparently, the Chantry does not like to give away children left with them for training."

His eyes went back to the stunned face of the Warden. Taking her hand in his, he gave it a squeeze. "I know that we must depend upon Arl Eamon for support in this quest, however," his hand tightened around Adela's. "Do not trust that man any further than need be. His agenda does not always coincide with what is best for all of Fereldan."

Nodding, Adela's eyes moved to the tall form of her husband, who now had turned his eyes to the pair of them.

DA:O

A long fingered hand negligently twirled the glass, wrist resting upon the arm of the elaborate and comfortable chair. Elegant, well made clothing fit the arm, shoulders, chest of the noble holding the glass. Deep set gray eyes were closed, the wrinkles of years that the man owning them had not yet lived long enough to have acquired through natural means marring his stern features. The prematurely gray hair hung free about his shoulders, two simple braids holding the strands from his face.

A noise in the hallway prompted the gray eyes to open, and there was a flash, brief and indiscernible, therein.

He lifted his wizened face, the breeze from an open window wafting over his features, gently ruffling his hair.

That hand lifted, raising the glass to his lips, and he took a deep draught, savoring the flavor as it flowed down his throat.

They were coming back.

She needed to be ready.


	57. Chapter 57

_My thanks go out to Shakespira, who helped me get this chapter on track. So, Thanks!_

_As always, my thanks to those who continue to put this story on their alerts and favorites list. But, most especially, my thanks go out to those who take the time to send the reviews: Biff McLaughlin, Munz (welcome! Welcome!), tgail73, CCBug, Shakespira, Eriana10, Nithu, and to Wyl, who read the story in just a couple of weeks and provided such meaty reviews that they were as much fun to read as his "The Little Hero" story had been!_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 57_

Standing straight, breathing hard, Alistair surveyed the battlefield. Dozens of darkspawn lay upon the ground, in varying postures of death. A slight grin crossed his face in dark humor as he cast his gaze about, seeking out his companions.

Wynne stood by the Sten, her hands aglow in blue healing light. The stoic giant had taken a blade through the joint of his arm, and the elderly mage had insisted upon healing it. The Qunari accepted the healing without complaint.

Others milled about, Zevran and Leliana picking at the corpses (every sovereign, every silver piece, helped them to fund their ongoing war against the Blight); Morrigan stood nearby, her yellow gaze scouring the area, the familiar frown upon her face. The young Warden turned, his attention upon Roland and Niall as they walked toward him. He noticed that the redheaded warrior limped and a frown crossed his face. Taking a breath, he stepped forward to meet the pair.

"You alright?" The Warden Second asked his friend, concern marring his brow as he took in the blood that covered the leg of the knight's armor.

Roland shrugged, smiling as he replied, "If Niall had not sensed I was in danger, I may well have fallen." He clapped the mage Warden upon the back, causing the smaller man to stumble forward slightly. "I could sense him approaching me."

Alistair nodded, turning his gaze back once more to the battlefield. Frowning, he cast out with his senses. He could easily sense the two men standing near him, but, as before, he could not sense their Commander. Uneasy, he turned back to the others.

"Have either of you seen Adela?"

Both men shook their heads in the negative, turning to each other. Alistair watched as an expression of concentration crossed each face, frowns deepening. Fear rose steadily in his chest. "Spread out and find her!" he ordered, quickly turning away to search out their missing Warden. The other wardens did likewise, expanding their search in different directions.

It was Niall who found her, kneeling upon the ground, one hand clasped over a bleeding wound in her side. Her eyes were closed, but the other hand fumbled to the pouch at her waist. When the mage knelt beside her, her eyes slowly opened. "Niall?" she whispered, wincing at the pain that came over her with the effort of searching the pouch, and her hand stilled.

"Hey there," the mage whispered as he let out a tendril of magic, searching through the wound. It was deep, and had nicked a kidney. The black blood that oozed between her fingers told him that much.

"I need to put you to sleep for a bit, Adela," the mage continued in his soft voice, glancing up to see that Roland and Alistair had spotted him. Nodding over at them, he turned back to his patient, casting a minor sleep spell over the girl. Frowning, she succumbed to the spell, her blue eyes closing as the mage eased her to the ground.

As the mage worked on the sleeping woman, the two warriors stood over him, watching as he worked, concern marring each face. As one, they both looked up at each other.

"You can't sense her either," came Alistair's statement. Roland frowned, glanced down at the elf, and then nodded. From his position on the ground by Adela's side, Niall muttered that he, too, had noticed he had been unable to sense the elf.

"For how long have you noticed this?" Alistair asked.

Niall looked up at Roland, and replied. "I have never been able to sense her." There was concern in his voice, mirrored upon Roland's face as the former Highever knight nodded his red head in agreement.

Alistair's frown only deepened at this knowledge, but kept quiet, watching as the mage finished healing Adela and roused her from the spell.

DA:O

Smoke billowed from the fire pit as the damp tinder took long to catch. Zevran, ever patient, bent down to blow gently into the kindling. Tiny sparks shot up and danced around the elf's delicate features, causing him to blink his half-hooded eyes. Finally, the kindling crackled, and tiny flames sparked brightly. With a grin, the elven assassin settled back upon his heels, carefully feeding more shards of wood to the fire before adding the larger pieces to a now healthy blaze.

Leliana and Morrigan sat nearby, tossing cubes of rabbit into a nearby pot, the witch adding wild vegetables and herbs as the bard cut and tossed the meat. Behind them, Roland and the Sten helped Bodahn with setting up his wagon as the others went about setting up their various tents and preparing the second fire pit to accommodate their growing numbers.

Taking a step back, watching as her friends moved about, setting up their camp, Adela felt as though they were home. Regardless of what clearing they set their tents up in, wherever Bodahn's wagon may be set upon wooden blocks to prevent it from rolling away, as long as these people were with them, it was home.

Her blue eyes skimmed over the various forms - from those who had been with them almost from the beginning (her eyes settled upon where Morrigan and Leliana sat, their heads together as they prepared the evening's meal) to those who just recently were added to the mix (Anders was jostled slightly as Oghren gave him a shove from the tent stake he had planted into the ground - at the wrong angle. Natia standing nearby, doubled over with laughter) - she knew that these were her family.

Rustling behind her brought a smile to her face, and she turned, watching as the tall, strong form of her husband entered the campsite, carrying two heavy buckets filled with water from a nearby stream. Now her family unit was complete.

Alistair returned the smile he saw upon the elven woman's face. Despite the smile upon his face, she could see the concern there, and she lightly touched her side and nodded, indicating that she was fine. Alistair continued on his way, a lopsided grin that widened as he marched passed to deliver the water to where the witch and bard awaited for their stew.

Her eyes scanning the darkening horizon, she felt a slight twinge in her belly. Within the next few days, they would arrive at Redcliffe. And, with luck, many of the forces they had gathered should be there as well. At Redcliffe, they would then need to decide their next course of action.

Shaking the uneasy feeling that abruptly came over her, the elven warden turned to her tent, ducking in to gather her art supplies. She needed to relax, to not dwell upon what may or may not happen once they arrived at Redcliffe. Maker's Breath! If she dreaded going to Redcliffe, how much worse Denerim? Sputtering out a sigh, she continued on her way, searching out one of the few things that helped to put her mind to ease.

DA:O

How often had the two of them separated from the others, finding a nearby log or boulder to set upon, hoping to discuss things in private in circumstances that offered so little of it? Far too often, the elf thought, believing that, once this Blight business was over and done with, she and Alistair could start some semblance of a normal life.

Well, as normal as could be for the Warden Commander of Ferelden and her Second.

She allowed a slight grin to cross her face, even as Alistair paced before her in agitation. She had no idea what he was about, why he had wanted to speak with her in private, but she was absolutely certain it had nothing to do with finding a moment for matrimonial pursuits.

Neither of them had proven to be quite so adventurous as to hazard a chance at being found out in what passed as a public setting.

So, she allowed him to pace, feeling the anxiety pour off him in waves. Finally, and despite knowing he was only trying to pull his thoughts together, Adela could stand it no more.

"Alistair," she said from her perch upon the boulder, her ankles crossed, her arms folded across her chest. He turned, seemingly startled by the sound of her voice, his face scrunching up at her. Grinning slyly, she gave a wave of her hand. "I presume you brought me here for something other than to watch you pace back and forth." Her grin widened before she added, "I hope."

Sighing, he stopped his pacing, tried to relax his face and stance. Amber eyes fixed upon her blues, and he nodded, moving closer to her, that frown still upon his face.

And, so he told her. Told her how he could no longer sense her, even as he stood this close to her. How Niall could not find her through the taint when in battle, or how Roland could not find his way to her side to act as shield as she rained arrows upon their foes. A blond brow twitched, her grin sliding into a frown as Alistair conveyed his ill ease at this circumstance.

Blue eyes closed, and Adela tried reaching out with her senses. Even shortly after her Joining, she had never been able to rely upon the senses other Grey Wardens acquired after their Joining. Other than the nightmares (and now that she thought on it, those had ceased, now replaced with nightmares of a Blight ravaged Ferelden) and changes to her courses, she had not noticed much of a change.

With a small shake of her head, she opened her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she replied, "Figured as much." She only smirked slightly at Alistair's widening of eyes. "I never questioned why I could never sense the darkspawn as you can, or why neither Niall or Roland would register to my senses. I just figured I did not know how to sense them."

"So, what does this mean?" Alistair asked, moving to sit beside Adela, who shifted herself slightly to the side to allow more room for the man.

She could only shrug her shoulders and shake her head. Nodding, Alistair said, "We should discuss this with Niall and Roland." She looked up at him as he continued. "Figuring out why this happened would be a good start, don't you think?"

Biting down on her lower lip, she nodded as she hopped from the boulder. "You go search for them. I'll go wait by the fire until you are ready."

DA:O

_This is foolish_! He scolded himself as he made his way through the camp. But, even after speaking with Adela, his concern had not lessened. He was anxious to pull Niall and Roland into their discussion. One thought continued to assault him, and he stubbornly pushed it down time and again. He would not even consider it at this time.

Because their group had been growing considerable as of late, their campsites had grown and taken on a life of their own. Add to the confusion of a dwarven merchant and his son a rather taciturn oxen, and their campsites were noisier than normal.

He continued to wend his way, noting that both fires were blazing hot. Yes, that had been another life to add to the campsites: an additional campfire.

A side step barely prevented the wandering warden from colliding with a racing Natia, who had been glancing over her shoulder at something and not watching where she planted her feet. With a grin, the human placed both massive hands upon her slender shoulders, pulling her to a halt before she could collide - face first - into his stomach. A blush rose prettily across her cheeks. As she muttered her apology, brushing her blond curls from her blue eyes, and Alistair righted her, setting her feet firmly upon the ground beneath her. They both then continued on their own way.

It was then that the warden noticed that Adela's hound had been chasing after the dwarven girl. Probably playing tag as the beast leaped upon the much smaller dwarf, knocking her, giggling, to the ground. As Alistair continued on his way, shaking his head, he was certain he heard the young woman cry out 'Alright! I'm it!' before lapsing into another fit of giggles.

_Never a dull moment_…There was Anders, sitting next to Oghren, who apparently had decided to share his ale with the human mage. The mage was matching the dwarf, word for word, with his own ribald tales. _Nope, do not want to know_! The warden continued on, humming to himself in a effort to keep the pair's scalding words from seeping too far into his mind.

Alistair finally paused, taking in the sights around him. The Sten, as was his want, stood off to the side, his watchful eyes upon the surrounding darkness. Alistair wondered if the Qunari warrior ever grew bored with just watching all of the activity around him. Shaking his head, he realized that the answer to that would be a resounding '_No_!', given how often the quiet and stoic giant would make his displeasure of too much social activity.

Wynne sat near one of the fires, leaning comfortably in the folding chair that Bodahn had sold to the elderly mage. 'Sold' being relative - word had it that the rather fatherly dwarf had given the chair to the mage, with explicit instructions that no one was to find out that he had given away such an item. And, of course, in a group such as the one they traveled in, everyone knew of his generosity within moments of the first time the chair had been set up. His head bent forward, eyes narrowing as he read the cover of the book the elder mage held in her long fingers, wizened hands. His ears burned as he read '_The Rose of Orlais_' and quickly averted his eyes. Scrubbing at his head with roughened fingers, he turned away, not even allowing his mind to linger on that bit of information.

He resumed his march through the camp, right to where Zevran and Niall sat nearby, their heads together as they discussed _something _that Alistair was certain he really was not interested in learning more of. Despite his rather shy nature, when teamed with Zevran, Niall had a rather bawdy sense of humor. One that Alistair found himself far too often the brunt of.

The mage in question lifted his dark head, a straight eyebrow shooting up as he saw the expression upon the warrior's face. Patting Zevran's knee (the elf looked up at his lover, realizing that he had been carrying on the conversation one-sided for too long), the mage rose, a questioning look upon his face.

"Where's Roland?" the Second asked, his honey brown eyes skimming over the forms of their companions.

"I believe by the lake," the mage immediately responded, his gaze following the path he had seen the red headed warrior take just minutes prior.

"Would you go fetch him?" Alistair asked, frowning slightly. "Adela wishes to speak with us all."

"Is it about what we discussed earlier?" the mage asked as he brushed his robes down, turning to seek out the other warrior warden.

Pausing in his own turn around, Alistair nodded his head. "You got it."

With those words, the taller warden turned to search out his wife, by one of the campfires.

Alistair's self appointed task of locating Adela was rather simple for him to carry out: after all, he had foreknowledge as to where the little elf would be. Sitting by the fire that had been set near their tent, leaning her back against a log as she sat upon the dirt floor of their camp, carving knife and ivory in hand as she carved her latest creation.

The human warden grinned as he paused in his approach, his eyes settling upon the bent, blond head of the woman who was both his wife and commander. Her fingers were quick and deft as they worked in unison with her tiny knife, carving and flaking away the unwanted pieces of ivory. Alistair knew that nearly everyone in their group - from the Sten to Bodahn to Natia - each had a work of art created by their elven warden's hands. The only person who did not was their latest addition - Anders - and Alistair had it on good authority (Adela's) that this latest piece was intended to their newest mage.

He hated to disturb her. She found very few moments of peace and quiet, and he knew that she sorely missed immersing herself in what was, truly, her first love. However, he wanted to have this discussion before they reached Redcliffe. And she wanted to have this conversation. He looked up and saw that Niall and Roland were both approaching. He scuffled closer to Adela, who looked up, a small smile across her face.

"Found them, have you?" she asked, putting her carving tools back into their pouch as she frowned down at the object she was carving. Alistair glanced down to the item, noting that it had not yet taken any form. She gave him a rather tremulous smile. He knew that she had not been concentrating, but merely going through the motions.

The carving was tucked away into the pouch, hitched to her belt, and the elf rose to her feet. Both senior wardens turned to watch as the others walked toward them, their faces showing clearly the concern they had. Adela looked up at her husband, a frown upon her face. Alistair gave a slight, lopsided smile and short shrug of a shoulder as they waited for the pair to join them.

DA:O

The four wardens found themselves back at the boulder Alistair and Adela had earlier occupied. Alistair and Adela were seated upon the boulder, Roland leaning against a nearby tree, his arms folded across his chest, as Niall paced between the three. The bookish mage had a hand to his chin, a sure sign that his active mind was dissecting the information they had, piecing it together with other clues he may have collected over time.

Alistair sat staring at the older man. "The Taint doesn't just clear up!" he insisted, frowning heavily at the mage.

Niall paused, his mouth quirking slightly. "Apparently, it does." He swept a long fingered hand over to Adela, who flushed slightly.

"How could this have happened?" Adela asked, bumping Alistair's shoulder slightly with her own.

The mage dipped one shoulder up. "I have been thinking on this, and I think I may have come up with the answer."

When the mage paused, Roland scowled. "Well, do not keep us in suspense!" he growled, agitated and curious at the same time.

Shaking himself, Niall nodded as he stepped nearer to the elf. She watched him closely, her blue eyes wide as he continued. "I believe it happened during our time in Haven."

"Why Haven?" Alistair asked, confusion marring his features. Niall kept his focus upon Adela, whose eyes suddenly widened.

Nodding, the mage continued. "Consider everything we - Adela - had experienced during our time in Haven. Or, more specifically, in the Temple of Andraste." He turned to look over his shoulder at Roland, who had moved from his position against the tree, and stepped closer to the trio. Beside her, Alistair straightened, turning his head to look down upon his wife. For her part, Adela sat quietly, watching as Niall gathered his thoughts, as though preparing for a dissertation.

Ticking the occurrences upon his fingers, Niall calmly and quietly recounted, "First, there were the Flames she had to walk through." His face scrunched up as he recalled that moment. "Do you not recall what the Guardian said when you passed through the Flames?" he asked. Adela tilted her head slightly as she tried to recall the Guardian's words. Niall filled in the blanks for her. "'Like Her, you have been cleansed.'" He smiled slightly. "And, didn't you tell us that you felt a shock flow through you when the Guardian touched you?"

Her brow now scrunched up, she nodded, remembering that moment. "It was a warm shock, more as if standing in a cool stream, and a warm current flowed around you."

Nodding, Niall's smile widened slightly. "And you were the one to gather the Ashes." His gaze swept over the other two men, who were listening intently, understanding dawning clearly upon each face. "If we could expect a pinch to draw a man from a poison and demon induced coma, why could we not consider that they could aid in the curing of something like the Taint?"

"But if it were that simple…" Alistair began, but Niall was shaking his head.

"It's not that simple," the mage countered. "There were many, many things that happened to our Commander that day. The Flames cleansing her, the touch of the Guardian, the Ashes…all the healing that Morrigan and I poured into her when she was battered by the dragon…" he voice trailed off, his eyes still watching the faces of the others as they carefully tied each event into one situation.

Nodding, he remarked, "I do not think that it was one thing that cured Adela of the Taint, but a combination of each of those things. And none of it could ever be recreated, no matter how hard we would try to."

Alistair turned to look at his wife, and Niall could clearly see the relief that crossed the man's face. "So, what does this mean?" The Second turned back to the mage. "She is no longer a Warden?"

"Don't you recall what Flemeth said?" Adela whispered, her voice lost as she tried to comprehend what Niall was saying. "She called me the warden who was not a warden."

"She knew," Alistair breathed, shaking his head.

"Witch of the Wilds," Adela almost chuckled. "Damned woman knew."

As they talked, Niall sent a small tendril of seeking magic into the elf. A frown deepened upon his face as he continued the spell for many moments. Finally, the blue glow upon his hand ceased, and he straightened. "When I send magic into you, Alistair," the mage said, sending a similar flow of magic into the man. "I can 'see' the Taint. It is a black halo surrounding your aura, but it does not touch your spirit, or soul." He turned to Roland, sending out a gust of magic. "The same with you, Roland." He smiled. "The Taint is a darkness that we all take into ourselves to become Grey Wardens, and because of its source - darkspawn and Archdemon - it leaves a darkness upon us. However, it does not attach itself to that part of us that makes us who we are."

"You mean it only Taints the body, not the spirit?" Alistair clarified. Smiling, the mage nodded.

Turning to Adela, he said, "The dark aura used to be upon Adela. I know this as I had healed her prior to Haven. However, that darkness has changed, turned more into a white-gray aura. Again, one that does not touch upon her spirit. However, it is still there, still as foreign to her as the dark Taint is upon us."

"So, she has still retained the Taint?" Roland asked, frowning as he strove to understand.

"It has changed into something, but I cannot say what. It is not as…corrupt as that which we still maintain. But, it is there. That she was never proficient at sensing darkspawn or others is probably simply a matter of she had never learned how to use the Taint to do so." He shrugged. "It's my thought she may well still be able to trace us through our connection of the darkspawn. She just needs to concentrate on learning how."

"So I won't need to go through another Joining?" Adela asked. Alistair tensed beside her, and she noticed for she glanced up at him, frowning.

"I would not suggest it," Niall confirmed, shaking his head. He raised a hand again, sending forth another tendril of magic. In a firmer voice, he reiterated, "I would not recommend it."

There was something in his voice, and Adela turned to the mage. "Why not?" she asked.

A small, thoughtful frown formed across his lips as he straightened. "She already has retained the Taint, albeit in a transformed state. We could be putting her in danger by making her go through the more…archaic Joining." He shrugged. "I, personally, do not wish to risk our commander to something we know nothing about."

Alistair frowned slightly. He did not like the idea of Adela being in battle with darkspawn with what made her immune to their corruption unprotected. Of course, he reminded himself, she had been so fighting them for months, most likely as unprotected since they left Haven as she seemed to be at this time.

"Are you certain she is protected?" Alistair found himself questioning the mage, who looked up at him with a quizzical look upon his face.

There was that shrug again. Alistair was really beginning to hate that particular gesture.

"Alistair, we are dealing with an even bigger unknown than we have been dealing with, regarding the Wardens," the mage reminded the warrior, rising to his feet to stand before the man. "It is Adela's decision to make," a sweep of his hand encompassed the elf, who sat, quietly, her head bent, a thoughtful expression upon her face. "However, having learned exactly the techniques and dynamics of the Joining itself, I feel rather safe in saying that she is as protected against the darkspawn as we are."

Adela raised her head at that, her eyes flickering between Alistair and Niall, ignoring Roland, who stood in the background, his own eyes thoughtful. Taking a deep breath, the elf put in. "I will not go through the Joining at this time," she smiled softly as the two men turned their attention to her. "Like Niall said, I have been battling the darkspawn all along, and it's very likely this change occurred months ago. Until we know what we're dealing with - now - I do not like the idea of retaking the Joining, only to have it react…adversely to whatever change has occurred within me."

Alistair did not seem convinced, and a fleeting moment of irritation surged over the young elf as she watched the thoughts play across his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but took one look at his wife's face, and quickly clamped his mouth shut. A blond brow rose at that, but Adela said nothing.

The wardens had decided to keep what they had determined a continued secret from their non-warden companions. Adela hated the idea of keeping such secrets, but understood the need to do so. If they spoke of how Adela was changed, that may well open up discussion regarding the Joining itself. Of their non-warden companions, only Wynne was privy to the circumstances surrounding the Joining. She had known for many years, and there had been good reason for Duncan's trust in the elderly mage.

She knew how to keep the secrets of others.

The decision made - for the time being - the four Wardens bade one another good evening.

DA:O

The next day dawned bright. Well, as bright as Blighted skies of iron gray would allow. The air was humid, the breeze providing little relief from the heat. Bodahn's wagon rumbled along behind the column of the marchers, the warriors, who normally wore heavier metal armor forgoing the extra protection for relief and ease of movement, the leather of their armor creaking with little use. Adela, walking beside Alistair, Roland and Fergus talking quietly behind them, smirked up at Alistair as he tugged at the collar of his leathern armor.

"I can never get used to this," he muttered, giving up with adjusting the collar that felt just a little too small of his thick neck. He glanced down, hoping for some sympathy from his wife. Seeing her smirk, he realized he was not about to receive any at this time.

"You are evil," he groused at her, offering down to her a playful scowl that certainly did not match the amusement in his eyes. Her smirk widened into a grin and, with a shrug of her shoulders, she increased her pace, glancing back slightly as Alistair quickened his own pace.

As the pair of senior wardens moved away from them, Fergus, with a grin, nudged into Roland's shoulders. The former knight grinned at his lifelong friend, glad for some ties to his past. As he opened his mouth to speak, there was that familiar tingle along his senses. He looked up, taking note that Alistair had paused, Adela stopping a mere foot beyond, turning to stare into the forest.

"At the ready!" Alistair shouted loudly, already pulling his blade and shield from his back.

As the others prepared for battle, the forest around them burst into movement as darkspawn erupted from the trees.

A shout of warning rose up from all of the Wardens, up the line of the companions, the Sten's war cry echoing amongst the trees. Magic flared, sending electrical jolts through the air, as the warriors rushed into the mass of corrupted bodies and the rogues melted into the shadows.

Alistair bashed his shield into the grinning face of a hurlock, smashing its nose across its face. As it bellowed out in pain, the warden thrust his blade deeply into its chest, silencing its cries.

As he fought his foe, Morrigan moved by the two senior wardens, icy spells flashing out to the surrounding darkspawn. As she drove Duncan's dagger deep into the chest of her genlock opponent, Adela turned, spying the witch.

"Watch Morrigan's back!" Adela shouted to Alistair, who, with a nod, acknowledged her order and moved closer to the witch. Satisfied he would protect their friend's back, Adela pulled her bow from her shoulder, firing arrow after arrow into the horde of darkspawn that had descended upon them.

The sound of movement behind her alerted the alert elf that one of their corrupted foes was moving behind her. Spinning around, she dropped her bow, pulling her daggers free of their sheaths. With a shout, she launched herself at the genlock, taking it off balance by her sudden aggressive move.

The warden thrust a hurlock back, away from Morrigan, dropping it to the ground. He heard Adela's shout, and turned away from the witch he was to protect, seeking out his wife. He watched as she tackled the genlock threatening her, driving her dagger deeply into its chest. Satisfied she was alright, he turned back.

The hurlock he had dropped was not dead, and had surged to its feet, its blade leading. Morrigan, in the throes of spell casting, certain that Alistair was guarding her back, had no realization of the danger until the blade thrust deeply into her side. Shocked, she was pulled from the Fade, her spell flaring to life briefly before dissipating into the nether. Gasping, she looked down at the blade protruding from her side, then up into the grinning face of the darkspawn. She watched as Alistair's blade swept the creature's head from its shoulders, and then slumped, slowly, the blade still lodged in her side, to her knees.

Dropping to his knees beside the injured mage, Alistair raised his head, calling out for a healer. Anders, nearby, heard Alistair's call and rushed to the witch's side. Adela rose from her kill, her brow furrowed in confusion and, upon seeing Morrigan injured, concern as she moved to the witch's side. Anders waved the pair of senior wardens back as he carefully pulled the blade free, his hand glowing with blue healing magic to stem the flow of blood. Morrigan knelt, patient, quiet save for the hiss of breath from between her teeth as the blade pulled free of her flesh. Assuring the pair she would be fine, the spirit healer continued with his ministrations, leaving Adela to pull Alistair away.

She said nothing, but offered a frown that spoke volumes: she was disappointed and angered by his action. Nodding him toward the bulk of the battle, the elven rogue melted into the shadows, forsaking her bow for her blades.

DA:O

Parrying with the Sten and Roland had strengthened the noble's arms, and his greatsword swept out with the same skill and deadly accuracy it had prior to his being injured at Ostagar. His mind fully focused on the battle, on the killing, clearing all other thoughts from his mind.

He had come to know a modicum of peace. Having Roland around helped with his feeling of belonging. The pair studiously avoided the subject of _home_, but all other topics had been fair game. It had been nearly a year since the massacre at Highever, but for Fergus, it had been mere months. He could not deal with it at this time, not until he could see the bodies…the destruction…the death for himself.

The blade parried back a skilled attack by the huge hurlock he faced off against, and a sneer crossed his scarred face. He twisted the blade, pushing it downward, pushing the hurlock's own two-handed blade downwards. The nobleman kicked out, his foot connecting solidly with the kneecap of the hurlock, and the satisfying feeling of bone and cartilage crunching added to the strength of his assault. Forcing the darkspawn back, off balanced, Fergus spun about, his blade slicing into the air in a great arc. It swept deeply into the creature's arm and shoulder, slicing the appendage and sending it to the ground in bloody rain.

Screaming, the darkspawn pushed off with its good leg, seeking to fell the noble. So focused on the battle, on the blood and death that he was able to invoke, the Teyrn of Highever twisted away from the oncoming darkspawn, turning on his heel, he brought his blade around, one handed, slicing into the thick neck of the creature, neatly decapitating it.

His target dead, flopping to the ground, Fergus Cousland stood, panting, staring down at the bloodied body. His eyes rose, taking in the fighting surrounding him. The darkspawn continued to bleed from the trees, and he wondered how they could have been caught so unawares.

Until he could have the Howes before him, kneeling in acceptance of the blood claim that was his, he would settle for killing darkspawn.

DA:O

Anger and disappointment fueled her own battle sense, and the elven warden fought with a ferocity that she had not experienced since her flight from the Tower of Ishal upon witnessing Cailan's death. However, unlike that time, she was fully in possession of her faculties, and so moved silently in the shadows, stabbing out at the darkspawn who fought her companions, injuring or felling many in her wake.

A realization came over her as she continued to fight against the darkspawn and her disappointment in Alistair. She stopped her assault upon the blighted creatures, scanning the area about them.

Maybe she had gone crazy, but she was now certain that there were many more non-blighted creatures fighting the blighted ones than when they had began.

Rushing along the shadows, forgoing the killing of darkspawn for the moment, Adela made her way to the vaguely familiar shaggy forms that battled alongside her longtime companions.

DA:O

Blood spattered his heavy armor, his swings slowing slightly from the constant wielding of the heavy blade. Yet, as tired as he was becoming, as certain that his own death could well be found upon the blade of his next foe.

And so he turned, relishing the feeling as that blade took the life of yet another darkspawn. He staggered as he was slammed from behind, and he stumbled forward, his blade sweeping to the side as he tripped forward. Spinning, he narrowly missed the thrust of a darkspawn blade, and as he twisted, he felt his ankle give away beneath him. Cursing profusely, he hobbled back, turning to face his latest opponent.

A huge, dark form rose up behind the hurlock that grinned over at the noble, familiar to the noble. A grin replaced the grimace of pain as the noble warrior watched as the hurlock before him practically broke apart from the shear force of the blow from the spiked war hammer that battered it to the ground.

"Apumayta," Fergus breathed with relief as he skipped forward, favoring his injured ankle, the huge Chasind warrior sweeping the Highever noble into a tight bear hug.

"Little Brother," the warrior growled out, pushing the man at arm's length, a huge, bloody grin splayed across his face.

It was then that Fergus looked up, taking note that many of the darkspawn were falling, and not simply by the blade, spell or arrow of those companions he had traveled with these past few months. The huge forms of Chasind warriors rose amongst the darkspawn, and other, slightly smaller, humanoid forms slashed and felled as many of the blighted creatures.

Turning to his friend, the noble found himself grinning like a madman. "You really know how to make an entrance, Big Brother," he clapped the larger man upon the shoulder, wincing at the sting that tingled along his fingers, even through the metal of his gauntlet.

Returning that fierce grin, the Chasind pulled a healing potion from his pouch, handing it to the noble. "If it is your desire to fell more fiends," Apumayta commented wryly, "you would do well to drink this." He glanced meaningfully at Fergus' injured ankle.

Sheepishly, the noble ducked his head, accepting the potion gratefully. It looked like he would not be out of the fight after all.

DA:O

Most of the new warriors fought with two blades - long sword and dagger, some wielding two long swords effortlessly. They were men and women, all dressed in rough leathern armor, long hair either pulled back in tight braids or floating about their fierce visages in wild manes. She was certain she recognized them as she moved closer, her dagger slicing into a distracted genlock's throat as she stepped closer to the newcomers.

It was when the largest of the men turned, his tawny eyes fixing upon her, a wide, wild grin crossed his fierce face. Those eyes, so filled with bloodlust, were far more predatory than Morrigan's strange yellow orbs.

"Swiftrunner," the Warden Commander greeted as the pair met upon the battlefield. Another male, almost as large, his blond hair as wild a mane as Swiftrunner's red-gold tresses, but with a less bloodthirsty smile upon his face.

"Gatekeeper," she nodded to the newcomer, her eyes going back to the carnage that surrounded them. The darkspawn were almost all felled, and she took note that the larger warrior forms that she was certain were not Swiftrunner's people, moved amongst the creatures and her own people.

"It seems that we arrived in time to assist," Gatekeeper's deep voice rumbled over her. She looked back to the former werewolf, her smile widening. Gatekeeper's brown eyes swept to the larger forms as well. "And it appears we're not the only ones."

"Do you know who they are?" the elf asked of her two companions. Swiftrunner's grin widened as he nodded.

"You have more than the Wolves of the Forest at your back, Warden," the leader of the werewolves assured her as he steered her toward the other newcomers.


	58. Chapter 58

_As always, my thanks to those who read and review, set alerts, or simply lurk about, as many of us have been doing lately._

_To those who review, my heartfelt thanks: celtic-twinkie, Wyl, cloud1004, Biff McLaughlin, Arsinoe de Blassenville, tgail73, CCBug, Munz, Shakespira._

_Extra special thanks to Wyl who helped work out the gracelessness of my first draft!_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 58_

Adela stood, staring at the leaders of their allies, her eyes leaving their determined features to scan over to where their warriors stood mingled among her own people. Turning back, she fixed her eyes upon Swiftrunner, who was watching her, his tawny eyes narrowed slightly.

"How many warriors have you, Swiftrunner?" she asked, her voice low enough just for the Wardens and the two war leaders with her.

A feral grin crossed his rugged face, and he barked out a chuckle. "We have with us over two hundred of our finest warriors," his grin widened as he stepped nearer to look down upon the smaller elf, his grin widening as she stood her ground, tilting her head to continue staring into his eyes. Beside her, Gatekeeper smiled broadly as the alpha male continued. "Nearer to two thousand than one shall meet us at the place of battle against the Archdemon and its ilk."

Her eyes widened and beside her Alistair clapped the former werewolf firmly upon the shoulder. More than two thousand of the former werewolves, fighting by their side? She shook her head in wonderment.

"Our people lived within the Forest for generations," Gatekeeper's rough voice cut in, lowering slightly as he leaned forward. "There were many of us that roamed among the trees."

"Some of our warriors now accompany our young and infirmed to quieter lands," Swiftrunner added, his dark eyes scanning towards the north, as though he could see those he and his warriors had need to leave behind.

"That is…" Adela shook her head again, a smile upon her face. "Thank you, Swiftrunner. To have such fierce and skilled warriors at our side…we are honored."

The two former werewolves - who now preferred to be called The Wolves - straightened slightly at the Warden Commander's praise and respect.

With a nod, she turned to the Chasind leader, Apumayta, who stood straight, his dark eyes fixed upon the small woman. By this time, Fergus had made his way back to their side, and was listening with great interest.

"Apumayta," the huge man bowed his head at the elf's acknowledgment, "we thank you for helping us against these darkspawn."

"Many shall fall to our combined might," the Chasind warlord declared, his countenance serious and fierce as his glittering eyes remained upon the elf. "With the five hundred here and amongst the trees, more than three times that number shall meet us at the end."

Roland let out a low whistle, and Adela again found herself overwhelmed, her cheeks and ears burning, a slight dizzying feeling sweeping over her. They had just garnered for their army over four thousand of the fiercest warriors upon the face of Thedas. With the combined might of the dwarves, the elves, and the mages…the elf stopped her thoughts there. She had no idea how things would go once they made their way to Denerim, but she knew that they still could not hope to defeat the Archdemon and its own army without the combined arms of the Fereldan nobility and armies.

She shook those thoughts from her mind. Her eyes fixed first upon the face of Swiftrunner, briefly to Gatekeeper, and then to Apumayta. "You are aware that there are dangers to fighting darkspawn?"

"Far more danger than not fighting them," Gatekeeper remarked dryly. He quirked a bushy blond brow. "We are Fereldan," he growled out, "and we shall fight and shed blood - both that of our foes and our own - for our homeland!"

Swiftrunner and Apumayta each nodded their agreement, and Adela felt an intense sense of satisfaction and accomplishment that flowed through her as she turned her eyes once more toward the warriors that surrounded them.

Then, with a wide grin and a nod, the Warden Commander said, "We would be fools not to accept the strength of arms you and your warriors offer to us." She bowed slightly to all three men. "You have our thanks and gratitude."

DA:O

Faint light flickered through the thick canvas of the tent she shared with Alistair. Lightly, she fingered the runes that Sandal had embedded within the flap of the tent - runes that ensured that whatever noises were made within the confines of the tent were not overheard by those outside. She smiled slightly, recalling how she had made the discovery of said runes when she had unwittingly interrupted Niall and Zevran.

Even now, that memory burned her cheeks and tips of her ears.

There were certain obvious benefits for a married couple to have said runes. But for this night, the conversation she wished to have with Alistair, she was very appreciative of the magic that the talented - if not strange - little dwarf was able to perfect.

Adela had not removed her armor. For this conversation, she had to be seen as 'Commander' and not 'Wife' by the man who was both her husband and her Second. Fortunately, their tent was large and tall enough that the elf could stand straight up in relative comfort.

Moments passed, and Alistair swept the flap aside, ducking his head to enter. Adela shifted her feet slightly, stepping back as Alistair's large frame fully enveloped the interior of their portable home. A small smile graced his face, and he turned those honey brown eyes to her. He must have noted her serious mien, for the smile slipped slightly as he turned fully toward her.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked, trying for a joke, realizing quickly it fell flat.

The elven warden tilted her head slightly, watching the other warden. "I would not say that you were in trouble," she stated quietly, still watching his face closely. "But, we do have some things to discuss."

The smile slipped further, turning down into a frown. Taking in that Adela remained standing - and in her leather armor - Alistair replied, "Alright."

Adela took a deep breath. She knew that she should have had this conversation with Alistair a long time ago, even before they married, long before any proclamation of love. She had known - even at the earliest days of their acquaintance - that Alistair was overly protective of her. And, while at the beginning, when her skills were raw and her experience seriously lacking, she was appreciative of that protection, now…well, now, especially with the additions of the Wolves and Chasind warriors…

She decided to start there.

"We have gained some fierce warriors for our army," she stated, looking up into Alistair's face.

He nodded, obviously a little confused by the start of the conversation.

"Over four thousand," she mused. She tilted her head upwards slightly. "Did you notice any females among our new warriors?"

His face scrunched up slightly, and then he nodded. "Swiftrunner's people contained females." He recalled seeing the women - tall, as rough and rugged as the men - swords and bows strapped to their backs and hips. The proud countenance upon their features marked them as capable warriors, easily sliding into the use of man-honed weapons as opposed to the teeth and claw.

"And amongst the Chasind?" she prompted.

Here, the man shook his head.

Adela took a deep breath. "Alistair," he bent his head down slightly, his feet shifting as he wished he could sit down. However, he knew this conversation for what it was - a commander speaking with one of her men. He gave her a slight nod, indicating he was listening.

"With the addition of these new warriors, it is more important than ever that they see me as the leader of this group. As the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. And, that if they join our forces, they must follow my lead."

Confusion flickered in those honey brown eyes. "Of course," Alistair replied simply.

"The Wolves…well, Swiftrunner is their leader because he is the strongest. The Alpha male. They will follow him until someone stronger can defeat him. That is the mentality of pack creatures, and, despite their being human, this is the way things have been for them for generations."

"That makes sense," Alistair said. "But…" Adela interrupted him with an upraised hand and brow. He fell silent.

"The Chasind follow a similar code. The strongest leads. And the two groups follow the physically strongest. How, then, do you think they will view me - a small elven woman, not even a warrior but an archer - and my leadership if my Second continues to put others in our contingent into harm's way trying to protect me?"

Alistair's mouth gaped open, snapping shut in an instance. Eyes narrowing slightly, he said, "One mistake, Adela…"

"That nearly cost Morrigan her life!" Adela snapped back, and Alistair flinched at the intensity in her blue eyes. "And, Alistair, it was not one mistake! You have always been hovering over me in battle. If you see - or perceive - that I am in danger, you leave off your own battles to get to my side. I've seen you leave the side of our fellows to come to my rescue!" She pointed a steady finger at him. "It needs to stop." She growled out. "It _will _stop."

"You are asking me to willingly let the woman I love remain in danger if I could do something to prevent it!" Alistair fumed, stepping back to glare down at the woman.

But Adela shook her head. "On the battlefield, Alistair, I am the Commander. On the battlefield, we are all warriors - _Grey Wardens _- fighting against the darkspawn, or whatever other evil pops its head up. We need each and every one of our companions to survive these skirmishes, to live to the final battle." She took a deep breath. "We all need to be able to rely upon each other, to know that the one at our back is _truly _at our back."

Shaking his head, Alistair paced to Adela's side, turning to pace back to his original position. "I can't do that," he admitted, turning back to her. "I can't just let you…"

"It is a direct order, Alistair," Adela replied evenly. "And you ignored a direct order today, and almost cost us Morrigan." She shook her head. "It cannot - it will not - happen again."

Alistair stood, breathing hard, staring down at the woman he loved. She was both his wife and his Commander. And he had been trained, from an early age, to follow orders by those who commanded him.

But, to do so…

His throat clenched and he tried to swallow past it. He had seen her, far too often, take hits from larger foes, watched her fall too many times to be able to resist rushing to her side at any sign of danger. His eyes closed as he tried to maintain control over his emotions.

"You also need to be more aware of our companions than you are," Adela continued, noting the anxiety upon the man's face, pushing passed her concern for him to get this out now before her courage failed her. Alistair's eyes opened, confusion still there.

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly, frowning deeply.

Sighing, Adela placed a small hand upon Alistair's arm and then pulled it back. "When we were discussing the change of the Taint within me, what was your main concern?"

Leaning back on his heel, Alistair stood quietly, going over the conversation in his head. "That you were not protected against the Blight," he responded after mere moments.

Nodding, her arms folded across her chest, one hip cocked slightly. "And just how many Wardens are in our group?" she prompted.

"Four," came the immediate reply.

Chuckling, she shrugged, "I think Hafter can count. He's swallowed enough darkspawn blood and still remains healthy."

Alistair allowed a moment to chuckle back, but his face became serious as he saw where this line of conversation was going.

"How many of our group - not including the new additions of the Wolves and Chasind warriors - are not Wardens?"

"Adela…"

"_Alistair_," she interrupted, shaking her head. "Most of our companions put themselves in danger on a daily basis, fighting against darkspawn, leaving themselves open to the Blight sickness." She tilted her head again. "How do you think Niall must have felt when you questioned my safety, knowing that Zevran is not protected in any way against the Blight?"

His heart plummeted, and he suddenly felt very ill. How, indeed, would the quiet, mousy, bookish warden mage have felt with such a question? He knew how he would have felt should their positions be reversed.

Angry. Indignant. Betrayed.

"That was a very insensitive thing to say, eh?" he admitted, his head hanging down slightly, a lock of hair escaping the confines of the tie to flutter across his eyes.

"Yes, that's the word," Adela agreed, straightening as she watched Alistair.

"I should probably apologize," his face lifted.

She nodded, stepping nearer now, allowing the Commander to give way to the Wife. She patted his arm, giving it a squeeze. "I think that Niall would appreciate it."

"Did he say anything?"

She shook her head in the negative. "You know Niall. He'll let things pass rather than cause a scene. However, I saw the expression that flickered across his eyes. He was hurt by your words." She tilted her head thoughtfully as she continued. "You may also want to talk with Morrigan, apologize to her as well."

She smiled at the scowl that crossed Alistair's face. For how far the two had come from constantly sniping at one another to a more subdued acceptance, the former Templar in Training and resident Apostate still rankled on each other's nerves. "If there's a mage in this group to be wary of, it would be Morrigan. After all, an apostate, raised by Flemeth, a strong shape shifter in her own right…" She paused, turning a grin up to Alistair.

Brow furrowed slightly, he prodded, "What?"

"Well…" she dragged the word out. "If there was a mage who could turn your well muscled manliness in squishy toadiness…"

With a heavy sigh, and a hang of his head, Alistair finished wearily, "It would be Morrigan."

Still grinning, she patted her husband on the arm before turning away. "You should still speak with Niall as well. I _know _he was bothered." She gave a small shrug and sly smile over her shoulder. "Morrigan is probably just fuming quietly, plotting her revenge."

Nodding his head, Alistair moved to the tent's flap. "Better sooner than later," he said as he reached out for the canvas. He paused, turning back to Adela. "Do you think we should make the offer for anyone to join the Wardens?"

She shook her head as she began to remove her armor. "They all are aware the invitation is an open one. Any one of them - with the exception of Wynne - would be more than welcome, and would make excellent Wardens." _Should they survive_, she amended in her head as she dropped her breastplate to her pack. She physically shook that thought away. There was a Blight to consider, and there were only four Wardens left in Ferelden. _And still no real idea as to why Wardens were needed to end the Blight_. Sighing, she continued aloud. "Right now, I just want to concentrate of getting to Redcliffe, take care of a few errands, and see where our armies are before heading to Denerim."

He nodded, turning away. As he lifted the flap, he said, without turning back. "I will try not to be as overly protective as I have been." Then he turned to pin her with his gaze. "It will be difficult, love. You are all I have; you hold my heart. I could not bear to lose you, especially if it there was something I could have done to prevent it."

With those words, without giving her the chance to speak, for he already knew her mind and knew he would have to follow her orders, he pushed through the entrance of their tent and stepped out, seeking out their Warden mage and shape changing apostate.

DA:O

Lake Calenhad dominated the horizon as Redcliffe Village came into view. Even from the height, activity was obvious in the village proper below. Swiftrunner and his Wolves had decided to camp beyond the village's perimeter, certain that the untamed former werewolves may cause discomfort among the more human inhabitants of the village. Adela had to agree - despite the great strides the former werewolves had made in acclimating to human society, they had only been truly human for a few months, and were, themselves, still somewhat discomforted by the demands of human society.

Apumayta, in the meantime, had sent several runners off, to gather the warriors that were making their way toward the arling. The Chasind war leader had set his camp alongside the Wolves, declaring that, once he had word of his fellow Chasind, he would proceed eastwardly, setting up an extended camp along the boundaries of the Brecilian Forest. The war leader felt that his people, of them all, would be best suited to meet up with any Dalish armies that would sweep out of the ancient Forest, and, again, Adela found herself agreeing.

And wondering, hoping, that her mother's clan would be among those Lanaya pulled together for their fight against the Blight.

For now, all the Warden Commander could hope was that all of the armies she and her friends had gathered would cooperate, would understand that the threat of the Blight outweighed any misconceptions they may have of each other. She brought hand to her head. Dwarves and elves fighting alongside Fereldan troops…alongside mages and Templars…add to that mix the Chasind and Wolves…she was not certain if she was merely trying to borrow trouble now. But, she had seen the level of racism amongst the noble born of Ferelden; among the humans of any station. She had witnessed - had been the victim of - racism from the Dalish because she was 'city-born', had witnessed both Dalish and Alienage born elven hostility to those who were not born elven (she rankled at the word 'shem'). It was clear and evident among the dwarves - even if they were more accepting of those of other races, they were not so much those of the lower classes. And then the dynamics between Templar and Magi…her head was beginning to hurt.

She glanced back toward where Apumayta stood, proud, as he barked out orders to his warriors. Her gaze turned to Swiftrunner and Gatekeeper, each watching as their Wolves settled into an easy campsite, bare under the open sky. At least she knew that these war leaders would not allow previous hatreds and distrusts to get in the way of what was truly important.

What she faced with the nobles…she shook her head again, stepping quickly to match Alistair's long legged pace. No sense borrowing trouble where there may well not be any. For now, she would just concentrate on meeting with the Arl.

As these thoughts rolled about her head, Fergus stepped nearer, matching his stride with those of both senior Wardens. He wore worn splint mail, his face hidden behind the metal facing of the helmet he wore, a nondescript greatsword upon his back. They had all agreed that the young Cousland's identity be kept secret as they made their way through the village and to the castle. With luck, Arl Eamon would be able to keep the young man's presence quietly held.

They had no wish for Rendon Howe to learn that another Cousland survived to threaten his taking of Highever.

As before, when the Wardens and their companions passed along the bridge connecting the village of Redcliffe to the surrounding areas, the folk from the village were aware of their passing through. Several people ran up to them as others lined along the path's trail, calls rebounding down the column, proclaiming the return of the Champions of Redcliffe. A slight flush tinged Adela's cheeks, and a glance toward the others showed varied states of discomfort with the attention they were garnering. The elf's eyes skimmed down to the village, seeking the shoreline and the houses lined up along the dock. She had business there later on, but, for now, they had to continue onward to the castle, to meet with the Arl and plan their next move.

Of all the battles the elf had entered into, this one with the Arl was the one she was most dreading.

DA:O

Eamon met the group at the wide, double doors that topped the wide staircase leading into the castle. A wide grin crossed his face as he clapped Alistair happily upon one shoulder, offering Adela a shallow bow. After Alistair introduced Roland and Niall as Grey Wardens, to which the Arl offered each man a bow of his head and verbal congratulations, all four Wardens - and the still disguised and unacknowledged Fergus - were ushered to the Arl's study as the rest of their companions were guided to the rooms that had been permanently set aside for their use.

Surprisingly, the meeting that she had been dreading for weeks - no, _months _- had gone far easier than she had thought. Certainly, the Arl had tried, once again, to put Alistair forth as a potential candidate for the throne. And, yet again, Alistair had declined it, reiterating that he was a Grey Warden and that Anora was an effective, rightful and _legal _Queen for Ferelden. She had watched as the Arl's steel gray eyes narrowed slightly, his mouth tensing in a thin line. But, ultimately, he had little choice but to accept Alistair's proclamation.

It almost seemed too easy.

However, every victory - regardless of how small - was still a move in the right direction. And, for now, Adela had more important things to worry over than the Arl's dislike of not being able to control Alistair as he had obviously hoped to.

As the tension eased, Adela explained to the Arl the armies they had gathered for their battle. Eamon's face relaxed from the tense frown he had maintained during their discussion of Alistair's ascension to the throne, a small smile forming upon his lips. "That is wonderful," he congratulated, nodding as he brought a hand to his chin. "The experience the dwarves bring against the darkspawn will be invaluable. And with the other armies…" He paused, giving a slight shake of his graying head, almost as though he was dumbfounded the odd grouping of wardens, mages, rogues and warriors could have pulled off such feats. Collecting himself, he continued with his thoughts. "The Dalish, mages, Chasind and these Wolves of yours…once we get the nobles in line to fight our true foe, we should be able to see success."

Despite being pleased by the mild praise of the Arl, Adela found his words slightly unrealistic. "We need every warrior, every rogue and mage. And we may well need even more. We have no idea of the exact number of forces the Archdemon has around it, nor when or where it will appear." She frowned slightly, unwilling to take the sting from her words, despite seeing the disappointment cross over the Arl's face. "You haven't seen what we've been seeing around Ferelden, Your Grace. The darkspawn as a great foe, and seem to greatly outnumber us." She glanced uneasily at Alistair and the others before continuing. "During our time in the Deep Roads, we found the Archdemon."

His eyes widening at the words, the Arl stumbled backwards, sitting heavily upon a nearby chair. "The Archdemon?" he whispered, eyes closing slowly.

Nodding, Adela continued. "From what we saw in the Deep Roads, it is calling a great number of darkspawn to its side. How many? Again, we do not know. Although, we have had a clue that it may be leading them toward Gwaren."

Looking up, confusion in his gray eyes, the Arl asked, "Why would it head to Gwaren?"

"There is an entrance to the Deep Roads near there. I am guessing that it is seeking to avoid Orzammar and make its way, unimpeded, to the surface."

He seemed to have aged another ten years, and Adela found herself feeling sorry for the older man. Slowly, he pushed himself from his seat, pacing the room. "I have heard no reports of the Archdemon - or a vast army of darkspawn - coming to ground."

"Any reports from Gwaren at all?" Roland asked from the corner he leaned into, his green eyes watching the Arl closely.

A shake of his gray head answered that question. And silence fell over the room, allowing the Arl to digest the news he had just been given.

And, as was with Ostagar, they had only the words of Grey Wardens with regards to the appearance of the Archdemon. Adela wondered if she would be hearing those words from the Arl, or if he would simply accept their word.

Apparently, it would be the latter. For which the Warden Commander was immensely grateful.

After another moment, Adela walked to the Arl's desk, pulling out her map and spreading it out upon the flat surface. "We have much to discuss - and scout, it seems, Your Grace." She pointed out the routes between Orzammar and Redcliffe, skimming her finger out toward the Brecilian Forest and northward to Denerim. "Before we retire for the eve, I wanted to point out a few thins for you to consider upon." She retraced the path as she continued speaking. "The dwarves will be maintaining a string of warriors and runners along these routes. Much as they do in the Deep Roads. The dwarven girl in our group will be left here in Redcliffe. Once the dwarves arrive here at Redcliffe, Natia will be sent along the routes, learning the route, gathering orders, until finally meeting up with us in Denerim." Adela smiled, looking up into the thoughtful face of Eamon, who had moved closer to study the map, watching the elf's finger trace the routes. "As she passes on the orders and positions, other runners will be sent to the other posts. It will be a far quicker means of communication, sending runner to runner, handing off the orders."

Eamon smiled, again nodding, tapping a finger at one point on the map. This one was northeast of the Brecilian Forest, at a place marked 'Dragon's Peak'. "There used to be beacons at the ancient Tevinter forts that litter Ferelden," his finger tapped at Ostagar, and then at another point at Kinloch Hold. "These are two other beacons I am aware of, although I know that there were other points." He looked up into Adela's surprised and interested face. "If we can figure out where those other beacons are, these beacons may well be used as a last resort to have the armies gather at a predetermined location."

Roland, listening intently to the discussion, piped in. "Is there perhaps a way to use the beacons to communicate by using the smoke as signals?" The others turned to the former knight as he continued, his arms crossed to his chest. "I seem to recall from lessons as a child that the Alammari were known to have used signal fires as more than a single 'get here' communiqué, but using the smoke from the fires to convey more complicated messages."

Alistair and Adela's eyes met over the map. "What about Apumayta?" Alistair asked. "Maybe the Chasind know of these signal fires as well?"

"We should make a point of asking him. He and his people may well know about these other beacons as well." Adela replied as she straightened, glancing at the Arl, who was nodding his approval as his eyes remained fixed upon the map.

"Okay, we'll ask Apumayta and go from there," the Commander remarked as she picked up the map, rolling it up and placing it back into her map pouch.

"Then we will be able to make more concrete plans regarding the gathering of the armies you have collected," Eamon agreed as he straightened, rubbing at his eyes. "The next order of business is Loghain's regency."

"And what do you suggest?" Adela cautiously asked.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Eamon began pacing the room, pausing before the large fireplace. "We will need to call a Landsmeet. All of the nobles of Ferelden will need to attend. Or," he turned back to the Wardens, a look of concern upon his features. "As many of them as would possibly leave their borders, considering the civil war that has erupted over the Bannorn."

"Are the Royal troops truly battling against the Bannorn?" Alistair asked, concern heavy in his voice.

The Arl's gray eyes settled upon the young man, searching his face before nodding. "Indeed. Loghain has demanded that the Bannorn bend knee to him and declare him regent of Ferelden. He needs their support to officially assume the role, regardless of what he calls himself now. The Banns, obviously, disagree, arguing that Anora is the rightful ruler, despite the fact that no one has heard a word from the Queen on this matter. They are also quite determined that, as sovereign lords of their lands, they bow knee to no one. Not King. Certainly not some upstart Regent." Here, Eamon sighed. "And no one truly believes this is a Blight, despite the devastation in West Hills."

"They are foolish to let their pride get in the way of defeating the Blight," Niall, who had remained quietly observing and listening, whispered.

"I agree, Ser Mage," Eamon replied, rubbing at his eyes again. "Especially given your report of what you found while in the Deep Roads. However, neither side will listen to reason. And, since my poisoning was ordered by Loghain, I know any words of mine will be unheard, seeming as seeking vengeance against the Teyrn."

"Then a Landsmeet it is," Alistair remarked, frowning.

With a nod, Eamon stepped away from the fireplace. Adela and Alistair watched the Arl warily, each certain the wily nobleman would bring up Alistair's claim to the throne one last time.

Instead, Eamon advised the Wardens that he would send out messengers to the various nobles, calling a Landsmeet in which they would decide the validity of Loghain's regency. Alistair and Adela's eyes met briefly, each nodding their affirmation to the plan.

There was no mention of their own beliefs with regards to Loghain's regency, or those who manipulated the man behind the scenes. Before arriving at Redcliffe, the Wardens had all agreed not to tell anyone outside of their circle of companions and friends of Adela's Fade Walking ability, and her belief that Loghain was being controlled by a blood mage. This decision was made for a few reasons.

The first, and perhaps most important, being that they had no real proof that Adela actually met the 'real' Loghain in the Fade.

The second was that anyone outside of their group - not having seen the things they had seen; not having heard or experienced the strange occurrences over the past year as they had; would assume that they were all stark raving mad. How could they entrust the safety of this country in the hands of lunatics?

So, silence prevailed and the pair of senior Wardens merely nodded their heads, agreeing to a Landsmeet in which they could remove Loghain from the throne. After all, that was their ultimate goal in political aspect of defeating the Blight. Removal of Loghain essentially and effectively removed the blood mage who manipulated the hero.

Eamon turned toward the bar, and, after offering a drink to the others - all of whom declined politely - the Arl poured himself a snifter of brandy. Taking a quick sip, he turned back towards the others. "There will be more preparations in the near future. However, I believe that any further plans made by us at this time could be moot if we do not have the support of the Bannorn and other nobles behind us." He took another drink, carefully placing the glass back upon the smooth wood of the bar.

"I agree," Adela replied, her posture relaxing for the first time since they had met the Arl at the top of the stairs. "There is one other matter that must be discussed before we retire for the day."

With a nod and wave of his hand, the Arl indicated the elf to continue.

Fergus, who had remained silent and helmed throughout the exchange, stepped forward to stand beside the Grey Wardens. Without preamble, the young noble removed his helm, running his fingers through his dishelmed chestnut locks.

Eamon's eyes widened in surprise as a wide smile cracked across his face. With a chuffed burst of laughter, the Arl stepped forward to clapped a hand to the young Cousland.

"Fergus!" he cried, pulling the younger man into an embrace, completely forgoing proper etiquette (if there was etiquette for such an occasion). Fergus was stunned by the overt show of emotion from the Arl, but made no move to break the embrace, but cast startled eyes toward his companions, who merely raised eyebrows at the display.

"You live!" The Arl exclaimed as he released his hold of the man, holding him at arm's length. "You have no idea how pleased I am about this most fortuitous circumstance!"

"No more pleased than I, Your Grace," the young nobleman remarked dryly.

"How much do you know…?" Eamon began, his joy at the sight of the young man dissipating into caution.

A profound expression of sadness and anger plastered upon his face, the young Cousland seethed. "I am fully aware of what happened at Highever," he informed the Arl, who stepped back by the unexpected show of hostility from the normally jovial man. "Warden Roland informed me of the events. I am also aware that my sister," he focused his eyes fully upon the other noble. "had found sanctuary in your home, but is no longer here."

"I apologize, Fergus," Eamon said conciliatorily. "She…"

"…slipped out in the dead of night," Fergus finished, his temper easing as he spoke. He waved a hand at the Arl's apologies. "You have no cause for apology, Eamon. I am well aware of my sister's habits."

"We tried to locate her, but she was well gone from Redcliffe by the time her absence had been noted." The older man offered with a grimace of regret.

"She's a skilled tracker and scout," Fergus remarked, shifting his feet slightly. "Knowing Elissa, she's found safe haven, and we most likely will not see hide nor hair of her until and unless she wants us to."

Eamon nodded, obviously relieved that the Cousland noble did not blame him for his sister's disappearance.

"Your Grace?" Adela asked, pulling his attention back to the elf. "Fergus's presence must be kept a secret. We cannot afford to let Howe or any of his lackeys become aware that yet another Cousland survived the attack upon Highever Castle."

"Of course, of course," Eamon remarked, ideas and plans already roiling about his mind. "He should accompany us to Denerim. My townhouse there has fewer servants and his presence would be easier to conceal there than here."

"That is what we had thought as well," Adela confirmed with a small, tired smile.

He must have noticed, for Eamon stepped away from the Cousland noble to fully face the Warden Commander. "I think that perhaps you and your Wardens should get some rest, Commander," he replied hospitably. "I am certain you remember the way to your chambers?"

Thusly dismissed, Adela gave a nod, and led the Wardens and Fergus, once again fully helmed, from the study, a thoughtful gaze from Eamon following after.

DA:O

So, still dusty and tired from the road, plans and plots forming around her mind, the pair of senior Wardens made their way to their room. It was at their door that Adela and Alistair were greeted by Gail, Arlessa Isolde's personal maid, asking that the elven warden accompany her to her mistress's rooms. With a small smile to her husband, Adela followed after the red haired elf, lightly brushing at the dust that covered her armor in an attempt to some decency.

Gail paused by the door, turning with a clean cloth in hand. She quickly brushed down Adela's shoulders, offering the cloth to the other elf as she patiently waited as Adela tried to clean up more of the road filth from her armor. With a grateful smile, the elven Warden handed the now dirty cloth back to the servant, standing straight as Gail opened the door for her.

As Adela passed by the elven servant, she noted that Lady Isolde stood facing the door, a small, wooden box held tightly in her white hands. She looked up as the elven warden entered, her blue eye fixing upon the elf's face as a genuine smile crossed her still pretty features. Her cheek crinkled slightly under the ornate patch she wore, the jewels stitched within the silken material glittering slightly in the candle light.

"Thank you, Gail," the Arlessa's carefully soft tones bade her maid, "I wish to speak with the Commander alone, please."

With a small smile and bob of her head, Gail curtsied as she backed from the room, silently closing the door behind.

The two women stood for a moment in silence, Isolde's hands twisting around the box she held between them. Curious, Adela's eyes would skim from the Arlessa's face to the box, wondering at the importance - if any - of that item. Finally, Isolde let out a small sigh, and she lifted her eyes from her hands to the woman who stood mere feet before her.

"I was so pleased to hear that you have returned to us safely," Isolde offered softly, that smile still in place, still genuine despite the nervous twisting of her hands. "You and Alistair…" her voice caught slightly at the mention of Alistair, and she stopped for a moment, shaking her head as the smile slipped ever so slightly. Clearing her throat, she began again. "You and Alistair are too important to us all."

Surprised by the inclusion of Alistair, Adela bowed her head slightly. "My thanks for your concern, Lady Isolde…"

"Please, Commander," Isolde gave a slight shrug, seeking comfort as she treaded unfamiliar territory. "I would ask that you call me Isolde. After all," she smirked slightly, "we are not only friends, but family."

_Family_. Adela tilted her head slightly, studying the older human woman before her. Of course, Alistair had told Adela of his childhood; told her of the emotional pain that had been caused him, mostly on behalf of and perpetrated by this woman. However, that initial anger and dislike that the elf had felt upon her first meeting with the woman - oh so many months before - did not come readily to her as it once had. Now, she saw a woman, noble-born, who was making every effort to make up for her shortcomings. Adela saw it in how the Orlesian noble spoke to Gail; she had seen it when she and Alistair were married; and she could feel it now, as she stood opposite her in the small room that served as the Arlessa's study.

With a smile, Adela replied, "Of course, Isolde. And you must call me Adela."

Relief relaxed the human woman's posture, and her hands ceased their roving of the box. Taking a deep breath, Isolde said, "I only hope that Alistair can, one day, find it in his heart to be as gracious." Her eyes lowered to the box, and Adela remained standing, still and silent, for she could sense the noblewoman had something she needed to say.

"I remember when first I saw him," Isolde lifted her eyes to meet Adela's open gaze. "Alistair, I mean. He was such a small thing, little more than a baby." She shrugged, her hands tightening upon the box. "I had been told that Eamon was his guardian. I tried to love the child, however…" her voice caught and she shook her head. Steeling herself, she continued. "I just could not. Too many rumors that the babe was Eamon's, wondering how the child would affect any born to me and Eamon…I admit it. I was jealous of my position. Of the position of any future children I would bear. In Orlais, even a bastard could usurp the position of a legitimate born heir." She took a small step forward. "I convinced myself that Alistair was a threat, and I strove to make every day of his life miserable."

Isolde had stopped, turning around to pace beyond the position she had stood in prior. Adela bit her lower lip, trying to convince herself to remain silent.

Yet, she could not. "You succeeded, you know."

Isolde's feet stopped, and her head hung down in weary defeat. "I know." she whispered, turning back to the elf. "Even when I learned the truth of his heritage, I still…" again, she shook her head. "There is no excuse. I was wrong. My fear, my insecurity sent a child away to the Chantry, to live a life of servitude, want and need." She scoffed slightly. "Not that I allowed him any love or acceptance as he lived under this roof."

Isolde closed her eye as memories of how she had treated a child Alistair came to her mind. She visibly shuddered. "I am certain Alistair has told you of how he was treated." She opened her blue eye, and Adela was surprised by the tenderness therein. "I do not blame Alistair for Connor's death," it was a whisper, so soft, yet pained. "That was my doing, my responsibility. I…" she paused, shaking her head. "I cannot speak for Eamon, as he will not discuss it with me. At all. But, I wonder sometimes…" Her voice drifted, and her eye fixed upon the box in her hands.

Stepping forward quickly, she thrust the box into Adela's surprised hands. "This…this is Alistair's. When Eamon spoke with him about going into the service of the Chantry, Alistair was wearing this." She spoke as Adela opened the box, finding therein the shattered remains of an amulet of Andraste. It felt as though her heart rose in her throat as she recalled Alistair telling her about being sent to the Chantry.

"_I had an amulet that belonged to my mother. The only thing I had of hers. And, when Arl Eamon told me that I was to be sent away…I was so angry, I tore it off and threw it at the wall. Shattered it. Stupid, stupid thing to do."_

Isolde was still speaking, and Adela shook the words - the soft, weary, sad sound of Alistair's voice as he spoke those words months ago - from her head as she turned her attention back to the woman. "Owen is a fine craftsman," the Arlessa was saying. "In pinches, he has repaired broken jewelry for me. I am most certain that he could repair it for you."

Her eyes going back to the shattered remains of Alistair's amulet, Adela asked, "Why don't you have it repaired and return it to Alistair?" She lifted her gaze. "What better way to apologize?"

Isolde's smile softened further and she shook her head. "No. I do not deserve to have the honor of such an act. I return it to you," she stepped forward, covering Adela's hands and the box with her own, "so that you may arrange for its repair and return."

Blue-blue eyes swept back to the box and its contents, and the elf nodded her head. "Thank you, Isolde," she lifted her gaze, and then, holding the box in one hand, stepped closer and pulled the startled noble into a one-armed hug. She felt the tension leak from Isolde as the woman returned the gesture.

"Thank you," Adela whispered as she pulled free, holding the box once more between both hands.

Her smile widening, Isolde replied, "No, my friend. Thank you."

DA:O

"Why can't I come along?" Alistair almost whined, a frown upon his face as he watched Adela change from her armor into tunic and breeches, her daggers strapped to her hips, her bow slung over her shoulders.

"I told you," Adela replied patiently, fighting against the smile that threatened to make its presence known. "I have some errands to run; Roland has errands to run. You need to stay here as my Second and make certain everyone behaves."

"Behaves," Alistair quipped, still pouting. "You act like we're all a bunch of kids."

Smirking up at her husband, the elf rose to her tip toes, still too short to be able to kiss him properly. Settling to brush her lips along his jaw line, she straightened. "You are."

"Adela…"

"Alistair, _please_," she turned back as her hand settled upon the knob of the door. "Just make certain everyone is settling in. I know for a fact Bann Teagan has been looking forward to speaking with you alone. Take this chance now before things get crazy."

"Crazy _again_," the human warden qualified, sighing as he accepted he was not going along with his wife for her errands.

"Crazy again," Adela agreed with a smile, turning the knob and slipping through the open doorway to meet Roland at the wide front doors.

DA:O

Pink tinged the horizon, and Ser Perth turned his face towards the sight, leaning slightly forward along the rampart. This time of the day had always been his favorite: the events of a full day behind him, the quiet hours of evening ahead. Normally, the castle was quiet as well, given that the Arl and Arlessa seldom entertained at the historic home of the Guerrins, waiting until their time in Denerim to host grand balls and parties for the other nobles and notables of Ferelden. The knight had always liked this aspect of life at home; it was simply for the Arl and Arlessa, those who served within the castle itself, and the villagers.

Things had changed since young Connor's possession and eventual death. Of course, the death of a child would change so many things. The Arlessa had become…more…human. The knight frowned at that thought, seeking words to revise his opinion of the once self-interested Orlesian noblewoman. However, he could find none. _Human_. She now saw beyond her own nose, as it were, seeing how the suffering of others could, at the very least, sum up to her own.

The changes within the Arl, however, caused concern for all of those who served the noble. Especially those who had served so for years. Such as Sers Perth and Thomasson, knights who had been in the service of Redcliffe longer than any other.

His eyes swept from the dimming light of the horizon, scanning into the gardens below. The tract of his gaze paused as he saw movement within the flower beds below. Squinting, he leaned forward, frowning as he took note of the familiar forms that stood below. He watched as the taller, red haired form bent down to the lithe female next to him, embracing her tightly, head bent towards hers, slender arms reaching up to entwine behind the redhead. Despite the height, Ser Perth knew well who embraced amidst the roses, lilacs and wisteria.

Seldom indecisive, the knight now had no idea how to react to what he was now witnessing. The Arl had conveyed a certain…mistrust for the elven warden, although the knight had never understood exactly why.

Perth shook his head, turning from the sight of the pair below. Given the standing orders of his Arl (orders he had previously believed vindictive and unnecessarily intrusive), the knight straightened, frowning down at his feet. Taking a breath, he stepped forward and walked briskly away from his perch, seeking out his Arl.


	59. Chapter 59

_My thanks for wonderfully awesome reviews to: Shakespira, Biff McLaughlin, zevgirl, Arsinoe de Blassenville, CCBug, Wyl, cloud1004, tgail73_

_And thanks, of course, to everyone out there who continues to read, lurk and alert. It's been a year since I started this saga. I promise to have it done before another year passes!_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 59_

The tall mage stood in front of the window, hands clasped behind his back, eyes closed as he enjoyed the sun's warmth. On a day such as today, he could almost overlook the smell of wet dog.

Ah, but Rendon was speaking, standing just behind him, with some report or other, he was certain. With a reluctant sigh, the mage turned, his eyes opening, fixing the blue orbs upon his fellow conspirator, a quizzical raise of a blond eyebrow indicating that the Teyrn must, once again, repeat what he had just said.

It was Rendon Howe's turn to sigh as he realized that Arawn had not been paying the slightest attention to him. A glance out of the window answered the 'why'. It was a beautiful, sunny day. One of the few that they had experienced since the long, cold winter had ended.

Instead of yet again repeating himself, Howe smirked at his friend, sidling up beside him, turned toward the window. With a smirk of his own, Arawn turned once again to look over what had been the garden, but had very little color therein.

"Shame we've seen so little of the sun lately," Howe remarked dryly, watching the mage from the corner of his eye.

Arawn nodded, his blue eyes fixed to the sky above. "Seems we may well be facing a Blight after all," the blood mage admitted softly, turning to fully face his compatriot.

There was a twist of his features, and Howe turned to face his friend. "Why ever would you say such a thing, my friend?"

A tilt of his blond head reminded Howe so much of Maric that the noble found himself taking a step back. As much as Arawn may hate the deceased king, he had many of the man's mannerisms. Even his easygoing personality - shown to only a very select few - was reminiscent of the charismatic man.

"The darkened skies do not give you a clue, my friend?" the mage drawled out. "How about the swarms of darkspawn from out of the Wilds?"

"We've sunshine now," he remarked, gesturing out of the window. "We have simply been experiencing a bout of inclimate weather. And we're only experiencing an unusually large amount of the usual darkspawn incursions." His smirk widened into a grin. "And, I do seem to recall that it was yourself that declared that this was no Blight." He gently reminded his companion, turning once more to face out through the heated pane of glass.

"Hmmm," Arawn hummed, frowning as he turned from the window to pace around his desk. "Yes, yes. You and everyone else are more likely correct. I am simply reading too much in the gloom." Staring down at the various papers that littered the surface of his desk, he asked, "Now, what brought you here, Rendon?" He looked up, smiling slightly. "I know I was a bit preoccupied when you first began your report…"

With an easy shrug, the noble stepped from the window. "Not so much a report, my Lord," he said in his too smooth voice, "I was merely conveying that the Tevinter mages are becoming a bit…impatient with the progress in the Alienage."

A blond brow quirked again, this time in irritation. "What do they want now?" he asked, frowning. "If we just let them take any elf carte blanch, questions will be asked. This way, they can take them - albeit slowly - and the elves' disappearances can be blamed on the plague."

Raising his hands in a placating fashion, already sensing the irritation from the other man, Howe responded in oily tones, "Ease now, my friend. I have explained this to their envoys. They understand. However," he stepped nearer the other man, placing a hand to his shoulder. "They can sense the growing tensions here in Ferelden. And they are aware that they are unloved here - as they are anywhere in Thedas. They've no desire to remain any longer than is absolutely necessary."

"Hang them, then," the mage cursed. "I do not want people questioning what is happening in the Alienage. Thus far, no one cares that they are dying of plague. Slavery, on the other hand, is greatly frowned upon, and we do not want to run the risk of tainting the dear Regent's name."

"True, true," Howe agreed, removing his hand and stepping to the other side of the mage, standing in silence as Arawn rubbed fingertips over his eyes.

"By the ancient gods," the mage cursed, scowling. "Caladrius can certainly bring out the headache, even without being around, can he not?" He looked up to see Howe smirking slightly. "You agree?"

With a huffed laugh, the noble nodded. "The man gives me the chills," the noble admitted, laughing again at the surprised look upon his friend's face. "Oh, don't give me that look, Arawn. You are formidable, but also affable. That man…" he gave a visible shudder for effect. "He's unnatural."

"Most blood mages are, my friend," the maleficar reminded the other man.

"I don't think I would agree with that," Howe admitted, turning to take a seat nearby. "Most of the time, you are rather…normal, quite congenial. And that Jowan fellow our dear bard recently returned to the fold…"

Here, Arawn raised a hand, _tutting _at the man. "Not a word against Jowan," he warned, his voice soft, yet warning. "He is an old friend, and I'll not hear a disparaging word against him."

Silent for a moment, Howe stared at his friend for a moment, wondering at the relationship between the two blood mages. Finally, he gave up with a shrug. "Suit yourself. However," he tilted his head to one side, smirking widely. "All I was going to say is he's rather the milquetoast, wouldn't you agree?"

Sighing heavily, Arawn plopped down into his chair, frowning at his friend. "Jowan is not the most assertive of men," the mage admitted with a groan. "But, he is useful, and has been useful to us."

"He failed," Rendon reminded him, as gently as he could, given that the mage had already warned him of speaking against the other mage.

"He managed as he was able, being alone and without back up," Arawn countered, raising a hand to point a finger at the Teyrn. "And that subject is now closed."

After a moment, Howe bowed his head in acquiescence, determining that he would find out what relationship existed between the two.

He was just too curious now to let it go.

As Howe pondered, Arawn's mind was working as well. His thoughts went to the Teyrn upstairs, one who, he had no doubt, currently paced around his small room, most likely cursing Arawn. The thought brought a smile to the mage's face, and Howe quirked a brow at that.

"Just thinking of our Regent upstairs," the mage interpreted the eyebrow movement correctly.

"Ah hmmm," was Rendon's verbal response.

"What?"

Shrugging, Howe replied, "I must wonder why you let Loghain have his cognitive moments." He twisted in his seat, crossing his legs at the knees. "It would seem more prudent to keep him in a stupor so that he does not have occasion to cause us trouble."

"Another thing Caladrius warned me of," the maleficar admitted. "It's something his Tevinter master had warned him of with regards to lyrium branding." Arawn shrugged. "Apparently, if left always in control through the brand, the lyrium will begin to…rot the mind. And, if the mind weakens, the subject falls into a near constant catatonic state. Without the mind - or the will - the lyrium branding would cease to work."

"At all?"

Sighing with a shrug, Arawn remarked, "It would be like walking a wooden puppet into the center of a crowded room. The strings would eventually tangle, the limbs twist, and soon, the puppet would be unable to move."

"Too complicated for me," the Teyrn admitted, rising to get himself a drink.

"It is for me as well, my friend," Arawn admitted with a laugh, rising as well. "Speaking of our dear Teyrn," the mage said as he approached the door, "I think I will go and check on him."

"Enjoy your talk, my friend," Rendon chuckled as Arawn twisted the doorknob. With a shake of his head, the mage left the study, leaving Rendon to pilfer more of his liquor.

DA:O

_By the Void! Will it ever end_? The mage wondered as he made his way through couriers and courtiers alike, many seeking his approval on one writ or another, most simply to offer well wishes for the Chancellor of the Regent. He allowed himself a small quirk of his lips as he mounted the stairs, walking serenely as he felt the many pairs of eyes upon him. Once he turned the corner of the stairwell, however, he took the stairs two by two.

He took great delight in his almost daily torments of the Teyrn of Gwaren. Not that he especially disliked the man. That was not the case at all. In fact, he greatly admired the man who was, arguably, the greatest hero Ferelden had ever produced.

No. The near joy he derived from his tortures were simply because, absent Maric, Loghain was as good a replacement as any.

After all, Cailan was dead. No torments to be dealt there. The Wardens that the dead king had so venerated dead alongside his younger brother, save for two. Arawn could only hope that, somewhere in the Fade, the spirit of Maric was bemoaning the death of his second born son, the one that he had decided was far more important to him then his elder born, or even the youngest (Arawn seldom allowed himself to think of the youngest Theirin son, but did so on the occasions he hoped to torment Maric's spirit). To the Navarran reared mage, that the man could so easily set aside children simply because they had been born to those not his wedded wife was something he still had difficultly wrapping his mind around.

Of course, he had, with almost single-minded deliberation, arranged for both of his Ferelden born brothers to die at Ostagar. That one of them still remained was not due to any lack of trying on his part.

_Ah, well_, he thought as he faced the door to Loghain's chambers. _All water under the bridge, as they say. Had Maric not reacted to his existence as he had, things could well have been different._

He pushed open the door, stepping through as Loghain turned to face him as he entered. The elder man had been standing near the table, glaring down at the repast that he recently been brought to him. The mage offered the Teyrn a slight twist of his lips as he pushed the door closed, certain that the magics he had placed upon the aperture would keep it closed - and any sounds from the chamber unheard beyond the door - until he commanded otherwise.

"Ah, yet another day of listening to your insipid articulations, eh?" Loghain drawled as he turned fully to face the mage, a familiar scowl upon his features. Arawn merely tilted his head, that small smile still upon his lips.

"Tell me," Loghain continued, remaining in his place. "what do you get from our conversations, mage?"

"Oh, a little insight into what makes you _you_, Loghain," the mage offered with a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. "You are fascinating, in your own short sighted tunnel vision way. You Fereldans have been free of Orlais occupation for thirty years, and yet you continue to act out of fear of reprisal from your masters." He gave a small, elegant tilt of his head, ignoring quite aptly the icy glare of the other man. "Truly amazing that."

"Oh?" a sardonic brow twitched as the corners of his mouth turned downwards further. "You find that fascinating, do you?"

"Oh, most certainly. The slave mentality remains in your Fereldans, and you make certain it lives on in how you treat others."

"Mages, you mean," Loghain snarked out, scowling.

"Oh, mages, elves, the lower classes. All the same to the average Fereldan seeking to make himself feel more superior than he actually is."

"What would you know about that, mage?"

His eyes blazed, and his face hardened. "Are you truly interested, Loghain, or do you merely want to try and rile me?" Magic blazed along his hands, glaring red despite the lack of blood magic being used. Loghain frowned slightly at the display, yet Arawn could see the slight tinge of fear in the man's eyes. "You are wise, indeed, to fear my magic."

"You are as a wild animal, maleficar," Loghain bit out, his eyes leaving the spectacle of the magic flowing around the man's hands to glare up into his eyes. "Your display only reinforces such."

"Really?" Arawn smirked, closing his fists, extinguishing the magical fire. "And yet I maintained restraint, and did not attack. Do animals do such a thing?"

"Well trained animals," Loghain countered immediately.

The mage knew that the man was trying to goad him. Most likely trying to get him to kill him, or otherwise harm him so that he would be useless for whatever further purpose the maleficar had for him. Arawn, however, was not normally a man who reacted in passion - at least, not to so blatant an attempt for violence - and so, seeing what Loghain intended, merely smiled.

He could see the ill ease the crossed the other man's face briefly, before the stoic mask fell, once more, into place.

"You asked me a question, Loghain," Arawn reminded the other as he stepped to the table and pulled a chair free. "Do you not wish to learn the answer, or were you merely seeking to inspire violence?"

"Speak your mind," Loghain sighed, leaning against the wall. "You know well you will anyway."

"Oh?" Arawn quipped as he settled into the chair. "You know me so well, do you, Loghain?"

"Better than you think, _boy_," the older man snarled back, his cold eyes flashing ice at the other.

Silence prevailed for many moments as Arawn studied the older man across the room from him. He took in the assumed relaxed posture, recognizing the tenseness that kept Loghain's shoulders far too straight. "Do tell," the mage finally prompted. "I'm all atwitter with curiosity."

Eyes narrowing, Loghain merely '_harrumphed' _at the mage, his scowl deepening.

"Oh, for the Maker's sake," Arawn teased. "Very well. You asked me what I would know about being thought of as less than others." He rose, passing a hand over his tall, muscular form. "When you see me, dressed in attire as anyone else, what do you see?"

"A mad man," came Loghain's quick and easy retort.

Chuckling, not taking offense in the slightest, Arawn inclined his head. "Perhaps. However, those courtiers and couriers, nobles and commoners below…they see simply _a man._ Not a mage, certainly not a maleficar. Simply a man."

A frown replaced the seeming easy smile that had moments before graced his face. "But, put on a robe, and suddenly I am something they truly fear. And for what reason? Because the Chantry can brainwash the simpletons that live upon Thedas so easily? They enslave the simple folk, imprison those who are stronger willed behind walls of stone and iron, and let the nobles continue to rule so long as they do as they are told." He cocked his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "Mages are considered dangerous, my friend. But it is the Chantry that is the true threat to freedom and all that the freefolk of Thedas value."

Snorting loudly, Loghain snarled, "So this is why you seek to take over the throne of Ferelden? To take over the Chantry?"

Laughing loudly, the mage shook his head. "By the Void, no! Truth be told, had I simply been allowed to live as a free man, as I was born, I could care less about the Throne of Ferelden. Or Ferelden itself. However," his eyes narrowed, and his voice changed from the jovial, conversational quality to one far darker and menacing. Loghain blinked at the rapid change in the man's demeanor. "things changed. People died. And I was imprisoned. So, I figured, I am due for a little of my own back."

With a scowl upon his face, Loghain pushed himself from the wall, straightening as he studied the younger man. "Care to explain in more detail?" He asked quietly.

"Are you truly interested, my friend?" the mage quipped back, falling back once more into the jovial persona he had so carefully crafted for these little discussions with the Teyrn of Gwaren.

Loghain's answer was a curt nod of his head, and Arawn smiled.

"What do you know about Navarran culture?" the mage asked, watching the Teyrn closely, curious as to why he was interested in his story.

Loghain gave a shrug. "Not much. Other than that your Pentaghast clan helped to wipe out the dragons in your nation. And that your nobles are rather clannish."

"Quite similar to Ferelden in many ways, would you not think?" Arawn prompted.

Again that shrug. The mage waved the gesture away. "In Navarra, the first born normally assumes the leadership of the family once the elder passes on. Even children born, let's say, out of wedlock, are due some recognition from the family. Bastards, as they exist in Navarra, are not normally relegated to the Chantry or other lessers for their rearing. They are taken in by the family, raised as a part of the family, and trained for their role as adults." His eyes narrowed. "In some cases, those born out of wedlock are the elder, and they are given the family name, and groomed to take on the leadership at the proper time."

Loghain remained stiff, his eyes fixed upon the mage's face, watching as a near dreamy expression crossed the mage's face. "Thus, when I was of age, my mother gathered her retainers, and my younger sister, and brought us all to Ferelden. The hope of introducing me to my father was foremost on her mind," he lifted his face, and Loghain was surprised by the blankness he saw there.

Arawn turned away, hands clasped behind his back as he paced several feet before the Teyrn. Without looking up, he continued.

"She knew I could not be recognized as his heir. She had been, after all, a diplomat to this backwater country, and understood full well the protection one garners through marriage. Thus, she knew that any child born of Maric and Rowan would be in a far more stable position of inheritance than any born outside their union. Then, of course, was the fact that Cailan was only a few months younger than I, after all, and Ferelden's culture was different - far more barbaric - than our own. However, she felt he had a right to know he had another son out there, and I deserved to know my father."

His eyes glossed over slightly and he ceased his pacing, offering a slight shake his blond head. Then, he snorted in derision, and Loghain tensed. "Mother had even sent a missive ahead of us so that he could prepare for our arrival. Completely and utterly unprepared for the betrayal we would all suffer at his hands."

"Maric would never…!" Loghain spat out, but Arawn raised a hand, and the man fell silent. Whether by magic or the sheer power of the pain that crossed his face, Loghain was uncertain how the mage managed it.

"He did!" Arawn snarled, suddenly across the room, spitting in Loghain's tense face. "He sent a contingent of Templars to the Ferelden border, exactly where we were crossing. My mother…" his voice caught, and the mage backed away, blinking rapidly. "They cut down my mother for trying to protect me. They took my sister, Solona…where, I have no idea. She more than likely is dead, being that she, too, was a mage." He looked over at the man. "She was only nine."

He turned away, his head shaking, hands now clenched tightly into tight fists at his side. "Every one of our loyal retainers were killed. And, to add further insult, they were not even granted a proper burial…their bodies were burned; my mother - a noblewoman - was burned…" he spat these out, turning suddenly again, "Whether simply in keeping with your barbaric funeral practice of cremating the deceased or to simply hide the evidence, who knows?" His voice quieted. "Who cares?"

With a snarl, he shook his head, clearing his mind. "I was taken and imprisoned in your Circle. I was almost fifteen years of age. I proved most difficult for them." The smile on his face was wolflike, an expression Loghain would never have seen upon Maric's face. "It had always amazed me, really. That a man that had witnessed the betrayal of his mother by those she had cause to trust could so easily orchestrate the betrayal of the mother of one of his sons. He must have had a streak of the gallows humor within him." His blue eyes met and held Loghain's. "I understand that he had similarly imprisoned the younger son. Sent him off to the Chantry, no less." His grin widened, revealing even, white teeth. "Had a bit of a sense of irony. One son a despicable mage; the other made compliant by becoming a pawn of the Chantry."

Loghain tensed further, his eyes hard, but he made no sound as Arawn continued. "So I learned what I could from the Circle, found forbidden texts the First Enchanter had hidden away and learned more. I managed to escape five years ago, coinciding with Maric's own death in a near poetic stroke of irony." The mage chuckled at that. "I then made my way out of Ferelden, into the Free Marches, where I found a mage - a maleficar - from Kirkwall. And from him, I learned even more."

"How did you find Howe?" Loghain had to ask, his mind whirling at the implications of what Arawn was telling him.

"He found me," Arawn explained, that easy smile once again firmly in place, masking the madness that lurked just below the surface. "I had returned to Ferelden, seeking allies. Howe was seeking allies as well for his own…impending plans." Loghain shuddered as he realized what those plans had been. "Through mutual," the mage continued, ignoring the man across the way from him, "allies, we found each other. And, surprisingly, our plans melded perfectly together."

"Why?" Loghain's voice was rough.

"_Why_?" Incredulity was in Arawn's voice. He could not believe Loghain did not understand. "To gain what should have been mine to begin with. I had no true desire for the throne. I still do not. But, I do want some part of my life back. That part that was taken from me. And, the only way to do so is to take away from Maric's. He is dead. If he lived, trust me, my dear Teyrn, I would kill him myself. However, he is dead. Cailan is dead. So, I shall take Ferelden."

"And kill Ferelden?"

"Maker, no," There was that easy smile sliding so easily - too easily - into place again. "I would have Ferelden live. Live under the rule of a mage. Show the Chantry that it can be done. And done fairly. I am not a magister, despite my use of blood magic."

"All to get your revenge upon Maric?"

"All to show him - wherever his spirit may reside - that he made a grave mistake killing my family and sending me to the Circle."

Many more minutes passed in silence, and finally Arawn turned away, seeking the door. Taking a breath, Loghain called out, "It was not Maric."

The mage stopped, his feet stilling instantly. Cautiously, slowly, he turned around, his face once more a blank mask as he turned fully to face the other man.

Loghain took another breath. "Maric never received your mother's missive." He straightened, staring directly into the other man's eyes. "It was I that intercepted it. I who advised the Chantry that apostates would be crossing the Ferelden border."

Many tense moments passed, and with amazing grace and speed, Arawn was upon the other man, his hand at his throat, pressing him against the wall. Gasping, Loghain did not fight against the amazing strength of the younger man, but kept his eyes fixed upon those of the mage.

"You…" Arawn spat as his grip upon Loghain's throat tightened. "You are responsible…"

"Maric…" Loghain gasped out, struggling for breath. Arawn tightened his grip momentarily, bruising the pale flesh beneath his fingertips, then released it to allow him to speak. "Maric never knew about you." Arawn pulled the man forward, then slammed him against the stone wall of his room. "You plotted your revenge for nothing!"

With a cry of outrage, Arawn pulled Loghain forward and off balance, easily tossing him across the room. As the man slammed against the floor, the mage was upon him, pulling him to his feet, a knife in his hand. Suddenly, the smell of iron filled the room, and a familiar red mist flowed around the blood mage, as the blade cut into Loghain's arm, sending a sharp burst of pain up his arm and throughout his body.

Pressing the dripping blade now to Loghain's throat, marking his flesh with his own blood, the mage hissed, "You think by your admission I will kill you, don't you, my dear Teyrn?" There was a deeper madness in his voice, something Loghain had never heard before, and he suddenly wondered at the wisdom of telling this man one of his darkest secrets. Shaking his head, Arawn continued. "But, no. No, no, no, my dear. You shall live." He pressed Loghain against the wall, and stepped away, his power flowing over and around him as a living cloak. "You are a fool, for all your brilliance, my dear Teyrn! Do you forget that I hold your daughter as well?"

Stony iciness crossed Loghain's pained face as he forced near panic down as bile, and he managed to croak out. "You would not dare! You need the Queen alive!"

"Perhaps," Arawn said, pointing the knife at the gasping man. "Or perhaps she is of more use dead, killed by the renegade Grey Wardens." He tilted his head, a malicious grin crossing his handsome face. Loghain paled as he continued. "After all, if she is dead, your claim as Regent has more validity."

"Foolish tripe!" Loghain spat, trembling with rage, and Arawn's hand upon his throat tightened it's grip.

"My plans for Ferelden have changed, my friend," the mage hissed. "You shall live - for now."

The maddened mage absentmindedly tapped the blade along the hollow of Loghain's throat. "The darkspawn swarm over Ferelden, killing those in their path. A civil war has taken hold, brought on by those fools of Banns who cannot see the destruction that is devastating this country." He stepped nearer, his blue eyes now glowing red, and Loghain gasped at the scent of death that threatened to overwhelm him. "You shall live, but your legend shall die as surely as if it had a life of it's own." Arawn repeated, stepping away. "And, as you live, my friend, Ferelden, and all you esteemed, will perish."

He moved to the door, brandishing the knife once more as Loghain made a move toward him. The Teyrn tensed as Arawn's power enveloped him, the lyrium brand under his hairline glowing brightly beneath the mane of raven black hair.

"All that you and Maric fought for shall be for naught, my dear, _dear _Teyrn. By not allowing the Wardens a stronger presence within the country, the Blight shall take over. With the imprisonment of the mages, there shall be no magic to help stem the tide of black death. The continued slavery of the elves, denying them even the most basic fundamental rights to bare arms, assures there shall be few to fight against the darkspawn that will invade."

He smiled, his white teeth glowing against the misty red backdrop of his power. "And you shall live, my friend. You shall live to watch as Ferelden falls to the black tide that is civil war and the Blight."

With those words, Arawn pulled open the door, and left the room, leaving a gasping Loghain, still trapped by the power of the branding, standing in the center of his room, the mage's mad words flowing over him.

_Ferelden…will perish…_

DA:O

The door to the study burst open, ushering in a disheveled Arawn. The mage shot Howe a glare as he pushed his way to the bar, pouring himself a large glass of whiskey. Feeling the power of the mage, taking note of the tiny specks of what appeared to blood upon his hands, Howe wisely kept quiet as Arawn gulped down the strong liquor. Only once he slammed the glass down did Rendon deign to speak.

"All well with Loghain?"

"Our plans have changed, my friend."

"How so?" Howe asked, watching as his friend lifted the brandy carafe from the shelf.

That only earned him another glare as the mage poured himself another drink.

"Sell all of the elves," the mage said once he finished the second glass.

Blinking, Howe tilted his head, his brow furrowing with confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"Did I stutter?" the mage snarled, his face twisting once more into a mask of rage. "I said to _sell all of the elves_. Give the Tevinters what they want. Give them that written dispensation they have been requesting. Make certain that it is complete, with Loghain's seal and signature, allowing them to purchase every elf in Ferelden."

That caught the Teyrn by surprise. "Every elf…"

"…in Ferelden. From every Alienage, every freehold, every farm. Even the damned Dalish! They can take any elf they happen upon, so long as they compensate us."

"They already have dispensation…" the nobleman started to remind the mage. A sharp chopping hand stopped that comment.

"_That _dispensation was to take elves they deemed too…ill to be cured with their rudimentary hospice and that would need to accompany them to Tevinter for further treatment. That they never return would be a simple matter that they did not survive," the mage sneered, glowering at the other man, who visibly shrank back. "This is outright sale of the elves to Tevinter. Authorized and signed by the Regent himself!"

"May I ask why?" Howe drawled out. Raising his hands, he continued, "Caladrius will be most pleased by this turn of events," Howe remarked dryly, moving around the desk, pulling out a clean piece of parchment as he began to write out the dispensation. "I am simply curious. After all, my friend," the Teyrn purred as he pulled his chair free. "The plan was to keep Loghain's name as clean of such things as possible. The original writ was to be seen as an act of mercy."

"I am certain Caladrius will be more than pleased, and I know you are as well," Arawn agreed. Turning to face his friend as he started to write in his neat scribe, the mage surged forward, slapping his hand down upon the parchment with a firm "No!" His blue eyes narrowed. "I do not want you or I implicated in this in any fashion. It must be in Loghain's hand in its entirety." He tilted his head. "Use one of Loghain's personal messengers to send the missive off to the Tevinters as well."

In answer to Howe's startled expression, rising up from the page, Arawn stepped away. "Let us just say that the need to keep Loghain as the national hero is no longer necessary for our plans."

That got a raised eyebrow and stilled hands at that comment. "Oh?" Howe frowned slightly, his eyes shifting to the door as he wondered just what had happened during the hour Arawn spent speaking with the Regent. His eyes skimmed back to the mage, but Arawn had turned his back to him.

"Just make certain that Loghain writes it out and signs it. He is…compliant now."

Howe offered his friend's back a frown as he stood, pondering his command. Just months prior, Arawn had been very cautious about putting their puppet's seal on anything as…unsavory as selling the elves into slavery. After all, they would need Loghain to continue to serve as Regent for some time to come. Assigning responsibility for so heinous an act to him could well ruin many of their plans, despite Arawn's assurances that Loghain's role in their plans had simply changed.

The noble opened his mouth to question his coconspirator, but the expression upon the mage's face - one he had seen seldom but had quickly come to associate with an explosive rage - caused him to snap his mouth shut with an audible _click_.

Thus, nodding, Howe set the quill back to the ink well and pulled free a clean piece of parchment, his quick mind already calculating the funds that would soon be added to their treasury as he then gathered more writing supplies.

After all, there were a lot of elves in Ferelden.


	60. Chapter 60

_I am going to try and devote most of my writing time to this story. My hope is to update more regularly than I have been._

_My thanks, as always, to those who lurk, read, alert and review: CCBug, Shakespira, Wyl, celtic-twinkie, cloud1004, Arsinoe de Blassenville_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 60_

Mother Boann stepped out the front door to the chantry, shielding her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun. The warmth of the sunshine was welcome, the brightness driving away – for a while, at least – the dark, ominous clouds that seemed to cover most of Ferelden these days. That the Regent declared their nation was not facing a true blight had done little to quell many fears these days. The young Mother's as well.

Brushing aside a stray lock of hair – which had begun to gray prematurely – she gave a slight nod to the Templars guarding the doorway and made her way from the Chantry grounds, toward the adjoining marketplace.

As she walked, at a slow, carefree pace, she nodded to the many well-wishers who had come out that day to the market. Vendors were busy, as they had been for the past several weeks, and she paused to catch snippets of the conversations that abounded within the marketplace. A small frown found its way upon her still pretty face, and she gave a slight shake of her head as she resumed her walk.

Although the usual bits of gossip could be heard – did you know that Goodman Isiah was found frequenting the Pearl? - (Mother Boann shook her head at that line of conversation as she continued on), there seemed to be one conversation, recycled throughout the market, of varying degrees of concern – that could be heard throughout the market that day.

Dust rose from the walkway with each step, and the young Mother found herself wishing for rain. Rain, as the sunshine, had become scarce these days. When rainfall did occur, it fell in brackish torrents, fouling the exposed water sources, creating black spots upon vegetables on the vines, souring the milk from the cattle. Ferelden was a water rich nation, and, although folks no longer captured the rainfall as they once had, she had heard of none going without water. She raised her eyes to the skyline once more. Rain would be nice simply because it would be some return of normality.

Ferelden was known as a rainy, wet, boggy nation. The lack of rain these past couple of seasons was unusual enough as to add to the tensions many had been feeling.

It was the concern of a civil war, the Blight, the strange weather or other civil unrest that had prompted many of the market goers this day to attend the market. Food had become more difficult to come by, the farmlands in the west overrun by darkspawn, supplies from the Amaranthine farmlands only sporadically finding their way to the Denerim market place. Rumors abounded that the Arl Howe – now, inexplicably the Teyrn of Highever – had called a moratorium on the amount of produce shipped from the lush farmlands of his arling to the other areas of Ferelden.

That the nobleman could add the title of Arl of Denerim to his growing list of titles would not send supplies to the city caused even more unrestful mutterings against the man.

There was also the concern that shipments of produce and other supplies had slowed down from such other nations as Antiva, Rivain, and Orlais, adding to the concerns of the common man that war – whether with man or darkspawn – was inevitable upon the soil of Ferelden.

And so these citizens of the city – the capitol of Ferelden – scurried about the marketplace, buying up what flour and foodstuffs they could, certain that food would become scarce. Among the rumors and gossip, the concerned whispers and hurried admonishments, came more than a few words against not only the new Arl of Denerim, but Ferelden's Regent as well.

Pausing at a nearby stall selling celery and potatoes, the good Mother tilted her head slightly, continuing to take in the disconcerted conversations about her. Boann wished fervently that she could say that their fears were unfounded. Information had been gathered and shared, and thsu the good Mother knew better.

It was with these unsettled thoughts that she approached the dwarven merchant, Gorim. The dwarf smiled up at the taller human, that smile widening at the Mother's request to view his stock of daggers.

"Ah," he intoned as he turned around, pulling forth a splendid dagger of silverite, its blade inlaid with lyrium runes. "Here is the perfect blade for your hand, Mother," he handed the blade to her, watching as she held the hilt expertly, turning the blade so that it gleamed in the sunlight, bringing the hilt to eye level, her eyes narrowed as she examined the maker's mark inlaid therein. "Direct from the Seat of Orzammar, it is." He smiled again, nodding his head once as the Mother continued her inspection.

"How much for this fine blade?" She asked after a moment. The pair haggled back and forth, finally settling upon the price of two gold sovereigns. With a smile, the Mother handed over the coin, and Gorim handed over the finely tooled leather belt sheath that went with the blade.

With a final nod, Mother Boann took the blade, carefully sheathing it as she hooked it to her belt, and made her way back to the Chantry, her errands done.

DA:O

Sunlight filtered through the overhanging tree limbs, casting rays of light parallel to the cooler shadows. Adela's blonde head turned toward the pair of men sparring, a slight frown creasing her brow.

Over the past few days, tensions had been growing amidst her group, and the source of the tension continued to evade the elf.

It started first with Ser Perth. The knight had been considerate and courteous to her, however, his manner had cooled somewhat shortly after the group had returned to Redcliffe. She had attributed this to the growing need to get to Denerim, call the Landsmeet, deal with the unpleasant political wrangling, and face the Blight. With the travel preparation, fully aware that the threat against the Arl's life months before had been initiated by, if not Loghain himself, then from within his circle of influence, everyone was at ill ease – from Isolde's normally cheerful maid, Gail, to the members of her own team. So, she had let it pass, crediting it to the growing tension everyone was feeling.

After the brief conversation she had with the man the day after their return, she was now uncertain.

He had made a remark, small and seeming inconsequential. A comment she could have easily dismissed, had she not also had an argument with Alistair later that same evening.

Regarding the same subject.

Roland.

The knight had surreptitiously inquired after Roland's whereabouts, a slight hardening of his eyes that had taken the elf aback somewhat. She had informed him, with a slight shrug of her shoulders that the former knight was assisting with provisions. After a moment's pause, in which the soft gray eyes of the knight searched the elf's face, he gave a polite nod and turned away.

Alistair, on the other hand, had not been happy and had been extremely vocal about his displeasure. Adela had taken Roland into the village with her a few times since their arrival. Of course, she could not tell Alistair why he could not come with her, and, for some reason the young woman could not fathom, Alistair had taken great umbrage to her denial.

There was a sick feeling in her stomach as the elf could not let Alistair know of the reasons for her trips into town. The amulet Smith Owen was working on was not ready, and she did not want Alistair to know of it prior to her presenting it to him. Although, if his mood continued on the downward spiral it now was heading, she wondered if she ever would present the amulet to the man.

Roland had accompanied her the first trip into town because she had needed was a pair of strong arms and a stronger back to carry back the heavy greatsword that she had retrieved – with minimal difficulty – from the dwarven merchant, Dwyn. The mercenary happily parted with the beautifully worked blade for a mere seven gold sovereign.

Of course, Roland had not been happy about the price, but Adela gladly paid the price, knowing that the blade would bring far more cheer to its true owner that made the price small indeed.

The near smile that crossed the Sten's face when they presented the blade to him later on had been well worth the cost. And his pledge to continue to fight at her side against the Blight – all under the guise of still needing an answer for his Arishok – had brightened her day as well.

That he called her _Kadan_ added to the feeling of accomplishment.

The argument she had with Alistair later that evening, who questioned why she would ask Roland to help her with the burden and not him, quickly evaporated the good feeling she had been nursing all day.

To say he had been less than pleased with the weak excuse she had come up with…that Roland had errands of his own and she wanted to keep the blade a secret as long as possible…all she could do was shake her head as the harsh words they had both said that evening repeated within her mind.

That argument – the first true fight the two had since marrying – was three nights prior. The argument last night had even harsher words.

Words she tried hard not to dwell upon. Adela knew that they were spoken out of frustration, tension, and no small amount of jealousy.

It was Alistair's jealousy that the elf could not understand, could not comprehend why her husband would even allow to form within his heart. So suddenly making its appearance without preamble or cause. But, there it was, and not only was it in his heart and mind, that out in the open, spreading between the two of them, dividing them, pushing them apart as though a tangible thing.

Alistair had apologized for the words almost as soon as they fell from his lips. Adela had to bite back her own hurtful words as he spoke his disappointment, that he had been hurt that she was taking Roland on errands when he was more than willing for a few moments alone with his wife, doing such mundane things as retrieving lost weapons or looking into restocking their supplies. Her heart had nearly broken with the sincerity behind his words, the soft, watery look of his amber eyes.

And then he had to go and ruin the remorse, so painful she almost declared the true intention for leaving him behind as she made her errands to town.

Alistair had crossed the line between _husband_ and _Second_, demanding that Adela limit the time she spent with their fellow warden.

That had been Alistair's greatest mistake of the evening.

"He is a fellow warden," Adela, as calmly as she could, reminded the man. "I am his commander. You tell me how in the bloody Void I am supposed to _limit_ my interaction with him?"

Daggers glared from her eyes, hands to her hips, and a stern frown upon her lovely face. Alistair's eyes narrowed. "You don't need to take him on every little errand you need to see to!"

Shaking her head, forcing herself to continue to look at the man, she swallowed. "There is nothing for you to be concerned with, Alistair," her voice was calm, but cool, her own anger rising. "He is a friend, a warden, and under my command. I will not limit my interaction with him because my husband has decided to play jealous!"

More words had been spoken, voices were raised, but in the end, Alistair had no choice but to acquiesce to Adela. As his Commander, he had no choice. Roland was a fellow warden. Therefore, Adela was his Commander as well.

Nothing had been resolved. And so the pair went to bed angry with one another for a second night, lying tensely beside each other, backs to one another, barely touching.

Tensions had only minutely eased in the morning, each giving the other merely perfunctory greetings, passing one another on their way to separate duties.

Now the afternoon's sun had risen, and Alistair matched blade against the Sten in the courtyard as Adela watched, wondering how she would rectify the situation.

As she sat there, pondering, a small boy – one she recognized from the village, but had never introduced to – came running up, quickly handing the Champion of Redcliffe a piece of parchment.

A smile crossed her wearied features as she read the note, rising quickly and eagerly pacing out of the courtyard toward the village.

DA:O

Alistair was miserable. He could not believe he had started a fight with Adela, and not just one, but two over the course of three days! The Sten's greatsword, _Asala_, swept forward, arching at his midsection. Twisting slightly at the waist, he brought his shield around, blocking the blade as he then pushed with his longsword under the huge sword, driving it off course, bashing his shield upwards as well, twisting the Sten's blade nearly out of his hand. Alistair took advantage of the qunari's off-balance, spinning around to slam his shield into the larger man's chest, flattening him to the ground. Grinning, Alistair stood over the giant, the grin widening upon his face.

After all, this had been the first time he had defeated the qunari in sparring.

The smile disappeared as his eyes skimmed the courtyard. He recalled seeing Adela earlier, watching the pair as they sparred. How he wanted to simply go up to her, apologize for his behavior, and ask that all be forgotten and forgiven. Truly, he had no idea where the intense feelings of jealousy had come from. It had been like a tidal wave of anger washed over him as he had watched Adela walk off to the village beside the red-haired warden.

And he had let that feeling take over his common sense. It was not as though Adela had never taken any of the other companions – Roland included – for errands or missions before, leaving him behind to lead the secondary group. And he had never felt any form of abandonment or jealousy over it. Certainly, he had questioned the decision a time or two, but never with any anger.

He honestly had not been overly upset that she had asked Roland to assist her with retrieving the Sten's sword from the dwarven merchant. But still, his emotions suddenly took hold of him, and led him down a path he had no intention of going down.

A cool breeze washed over him, ruffling his hair, which had fallen free of its tie at the back of his neck, and he reached up to brush a stray lock from his eyes as he turned to his sparring partner, offering a congratulatory word as the Sten gracefully rose to his feet, bowed slightly and then turned to leave.

As he sheathed his blade and set his shield to his back, the young man turned to walk back to the castle, his eyes skimming the courtyard in search of his wife.

As he thought more of it, he realized that the feelings were very similar to how he had felt when both he and Roland were vying for Adela's attentions.

Many, many months prior. And he, _Alistair_, was now the woman's husband.

What cause did he have, truly, for these feelings?

With a heavy sigh, he mounted the steps, sluggishly climbing the stairs and passing through the wide double doors, unaware that a pair of keen gray eyes watched his progress from a window above.

DA:O

They passed through the forests as spirits, slipping in and out of the cool shadows with ease, forms indistinguishable from the dark patches that were natural to the deepest and oldest of forests. This was their element, their home. Their people had survived for millennia because they knew that, standing in the light, exposed, could well mean their own enslavement. Or worse, an end to them.

They would never submit, for they were the walkers of the lonely paths.

Yet, here they were, racing through the ancient forests that had sheltered them when their own homeland had fallen, coursing through with all the speed ingrained in their race, seeking out others of the race of that had been their conquerors and enslavers from so many countless centuries past.

Humans. Shemlen. _Shems_.

To stop a Blight, the Dalish would align themselves with the Forgotten Ones themselves.

The elves racing amongst the trees were of Clan Mahariel. The main bulk of the clan had already fled Ferelden at the first sign of the Blight, seeking to keep their people as safe as possible from the taint that threatened to ravage the land. However, runners from the clan led formerly by Zathrian had managed to catch them up quickly, and relayed the request of the Grey Wardens that the Dalish honor their timeless agreement to assist in a Blight. Marethari had called for volunteers.

Close to half of their most able bodied warriors had volunteered to face the battle against the Archdemon and the Blight it led.

Speed was a factor, and the mounts of the Dalish, the mystical and beautiful _Halla_, had communicated their willingness to accompany these fine, brave warriors as their steeds, using their speed and grace to carry the warriors from the outskirts of the Ferelden borders closer to the human settlements where they expected to meet up with the Grey Wardens and their allies.

Their flight from the main body of their camp, with the assistance of the Halla, took mere days. Once they had reached the borders of the Brecilian Forest, the elves dismounted, urging the Halla to return to their clan with due speed. With final farewells made, the Halla turned to make the days-long journey back to the edges of Ferelden as the Dalish melted into the ancient forest.

As the group of elves neared the Forest's borders their leader, a tall man with unruly red hair, wielding a staff upon his back, raised a long fingered hand, calling for a halt. His handsome, heavily tattooed face scrunched as he carefully approached where the Forest met the tamer paths, his face lifting slightly as he tasted the smoke on the wind. Purple eyes, so dark as to appear black, scanned the scene before him, settling upon the figures in the distance, milling about what could well be a large campsite, set along the perimeter of the Forest's edge.

Turning once, he gave a sharp movement of his hand, indicating that those who followed should move forward. Without hesitation, the warriors under the mage's command stepped forward as one, and, together, the wild elves melted back into the cool shadows, slipping easily along the Forest's edges, feet barely touching the fallen leaves and forest debris that littered the ground, no sound to herald their approach as they made their way toward the distant campsites.


	61. Chapter 61

_My thanks to everyone! I keep getting alerts and reviews! Yay! Thanks to Shakespira, Wyl, cloud1004, Arsinoe de Blassenville for taking the time to submit a review. _

_I hope to have the next update by next weekend. The story is flowing, and I think we'll be seeing Denerim then. Thanks for following along…_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 61_

Long, delicate fingers ran over the embossed figure upon the smooth metal, feeling the smooth ridges of the feminine form depicted thereon. The craftsmanship was of fine quality, the artist having taken the time to ensure that no harsh or rough edges remained upon the item. Adela brought the amulet closer to her eyes, turning the item over as she scanned the back for a trademark. A delicate frown formed on her lips. The damage done to the item so long ago had made any reconstruction of the artist's mark impossible.

With a sigh, she turned it back over, her blue-blue eyes taking in the figure stamped upon the oval, silver amulet – that of a tall, human woman, hair flowing behind her, as though in a strong, steady wind she stood, flames rising into the air behind her as a beacon of sunshine spread out around her. She held a flaming sword outstretched in one hand, the other held high, as though in salute to the Maker, the dress she was clad in hugging her generous curves. The frown was replaced by the slightest of smiles as she considered that the artist had an extremely romanticized vision of the Maker's Bride.

_Obviously Orlesian_, she thought wryly.

Smith Owen had done a fine job in reconstructing the damaged amulet, and she flipped it over in her hands once more to once again scan the item for any noticeable damage.

He had done a fine job indeed.

Gently, she replaced the item back into the box Isolde had provided to her when she had first given the elf the long lost necklace. As she slid the cover back over the small, wooden box, the elf moved to the side of the bed her husband normally slept upon. Carefully, she placed the box beneath the pillow, brushing the pillow smooth once more, hiding the item beneath.

For a moment, she stood there, staring down at the bedding, pushing the ill ease that threatened to overwhelm her once more. It was her hope that presenting the amulet to Alistair that evening would help to smooth over the discord of the past few days. They had to leave Redcliffe first thing in the morning, and she truly did not wish to begin a long day's march with friction.

She turned away, heading to the door, determined to finish with the preparations of traveling to Denerim with the Arl and his company.

Regardless of what was happening in her personal life, a Blight still needed to be defeated.

DA:O

The steady thrum of heavy footfalls echoed along the cliffs and peaks as the dwarven army began its march through the Frostback Range toward the lowlands. Overhead, a lone raven circled, letting loose a lonely, keening call in answer to the stoic march below. Neat columns of heavily armed and armored warriors descended from Orzammar's front steps, the merchants in the nearby stalls pausing in their work to watch as the combined forces of the dwarven city marched to the call of the Grey Wardens.

Despite being cast out, despite having been declared exiled by their underground dwelling brethren, the surface dwarves stepped from their stalls, offering words of encouragement, exuding pride to the departing backs of the warriors who paid them little heed.

The only answer to their well wishes…the continued thrumming of their heavily booted feet as they clomped along the stone, out of the depths of the underground, and further, deeper onto the lighted surface.

DA:O

Gail hurried through the finishing touches of packing her mistress's luggage. This trip to Denerim called for a consolidation of items, and Isolde had taken care not to over pack. The young elven maid was fully aware – as was her mistress – that should she take advantage, the Arl would deny her accompanying him to their estate in the capitol.

Isolde had been adamant that she accompany him to their estate, that she be there when he called the Landsmeet. The Arl had given her a wary look, frowning as his eyes, inevitably, went to the ornate patch she wore over her right eye, tracing the line of the now barely visible scar that traced its path down her cheek to her chin. The young elf frowned darkly as she recalled the Arl's unkind words to her mistress.

"Do you truly wish to be seen in public like that, Isolde?" he had asked, his voice calm, those gray eyes fixed upon the Arlessa's ruined features.

A gleam of pain shone briefly in the noblewoman's remaining eye before vanishing quickly as she adamantly nodded her head. "Yes, Eamon," she had said, her thick accented voice soft as she had placed a hand to her husband's arm. "I should be by your side in this."

Eamon's eyes had searched his wife's face for a moment. Gail had hoped that some kindness would come forth from the man – offering some hope to the woman who had so much to repent for, and who had done so much during the months since their son's death. She was disappointed, then, when the man gave a curt nod, advising his wife to pack light, and then turned to leave the chamber he no longer shared with his wife.

Despite being relieved at being allowed to accompany him, Isolde had broken down in tears as the coldness that emanated from her husband flooded her own heart. Gail hurried to her side, patting Isolde's quivering shoulders with a gentle hand.

So now, the pair of women pulled forth practical dresses from Isolde's vast closets, taking time to pack only one gown, and little jewelry, filling the sole traveler's trunk that the Arlessa was allowing herself to take.

The elf grinned at her mistress's determination and continued to pack.

DA:O

Gently, with careful ease born of years of practice, Boann pulled at the knot at the sheath's corner, and then gently began to pull the leather twine through the holes, carefully dismembering the sheath. Above her left shoulder, Ser Landry watched as her long fingers skillfully disassembled the casing.

"You've had practice," the knight remarked quietly, smiling as a gentle grin crossed the Mother's fine features.

"When you are the only daughter of a woman who believed that a woman's value was in her hands, you tend to learn how to not only sew but disassemble that which was sown," her soft voice wafted upwards as she patiently continued with her work. "As well as cook, tend a garden, play the piano…" she let her voice fade off at the memory of her mother, a cloud of sad remembrance settling over her as she continued her work.

"Ah," Ser Landry smiled softly as he moved slightly to allow more light over the Mother's shoulder. "So she was preparing you for marriage, was she?"

Nodding, she continued her work. "Indeed. Had plague not taken her, I would have been married off, perhaps with children of my own by now." She gave a gentle shrug of her bent shoulders. "However, she was widowed, and, with her passing, and my young age, I was sent to the Chantry. And here I have been ever since."

She gave a gentle tug (Ser Landry noted that all over her movements seemed of the gentle sort), and soon, the twine was pulled entirely free of the small, leather scabbard. The cleric placed the pieces upon the table before her, keeping them together as best as she could for later reassembling. Then, she reached down, pulling one piece of leather free of the other, revealing a square of parchment hidden sandwiched between.

Stepping back, Boann allowed Landry to take her place, and watched as he picked up the parchment, carefully unfolding it to read the fine letterings printed thereupon.

Chuckling, Landry looked over to the Mother. "Straight for the Seat of Orzammar indeed," he quoted the dwarven merchant, showing the woman the signature at the bottom of the page. Her answering gasp caused the knight to chuckle further as he read the letter aloud.

"_In this time of greatest tragedy and despair, with offerings of hope, your dwarven brethren of Orzammar greet you._

_It will please you to know that Griffon has passed this way, and not only were the quests and trails survived and surpassed, but has grown in number and strength. Gathered are their allies, readying to cut the head from the Beast. Soon shall the Griffon fly hither. _

_Know, too, that the Warriors of the Stone march ever onwards to defeat the great blackness that threatens all. _

_Trust this messenger as I have all my life._

_Ancestors' blessings upon us all._

_Most humbly, _

_Serena Abriel Aeducan_

_Queen, Orzammar"_

The two looked at each other, wide smiles upon their faces.

"She lives," Boann murmured, relief etched plainly upon her face as well as heavy in her voice.

Landry, too, felt the relief wash over him as the news that Adela yet lived, and had been gathering the allies they would need to defeat the Blight.

"Well," Ser Landry said, breaking the silence. "It seems we have some planning to do." He gave a great sigh. "While Adela and her allies work against the Blight, we can continue our work here against the civil unrest."

Smiling as she nodded her head, the Mother began to reassemble the dagger's sheath, hands deftly twisting and pulling the leather twine back through the holes. "As best as we can." She replied softly, a shiver coursing through her as she considered all they had done, and all they had yet to accomplish.

"Have you heard from your contact at the castle?" Landry asked, his eyes once more upon her hands, marveling at how delicate they seemed as they wove the twine through the narrow holes.

"No," Boann replied, a slight frown upon her face. "And I worry. I should have heard from her sooner than this." She raised her eyes to search Landry's lined features, her dark eyes settling upon his soft blues. "Have you heard from your contact at the Palace?"

As opposed to Boann's negative response, the knight nodded. "Some. Her movements are carefully monitored, however. And since I am no longer a part of Loghain's inner circle, the girl finds it more difficult to get out to report back to me. Last I heard, they had reclaimed the mage responsible for the mess at Redcliffe."

Her hands stopped their motions, her eyes flying back to Landry's face. "The blood mage?" Fear and uncertainly tinged her voice, and Landry only nodded in affirmation. Swallowing passed the tightness in her throat, Boann continued with her work.

"I'd storm the palace, demand to speak with Loghain, if I could only get passed that damnable Chancellor," Landry scowled, beginning to pace about the small room the pair were sequestered within. He shook his head, the scowl remaining. "There is something about the man...almost familiar, yet I can never truly focus upon his features." He ceased his pacing, turning once more to Boann, who had finished reassembling the sheath and had replaced it at her hip, the dagger once more at its proper home. "It worries me."

"Surely that is not the only thing that worries you?" Boann managed a chuckle. "At least we know that we've more allies beyond Denerim." She looked pointedly to the parchment the man still held.

With a smile and slight nod, the knight turned toward the fire, tossing the parchment into the flames and watching as it burned away. "And those of the Grey will soon be within Denerim." He looked up from the fire. "I should let the Guard know."

DA:O

Adela was nowhere to be found. He had thought to locate her in the kitchens, seeing to a late meal since everyone had been about different duties and chores throughout the day. He had noted that Roland seemed to be avoiding him, and that was well and good to the senior warden. It was difficult enough facing his wife after the temper he had been in. He feared the former knight's reaction to his insane impulse. He continued his search, his disappointment growing with each empty room he peered into, searching out the elusive elf.

He had checked the courtyard, certain that, if not filling her belly, she was sparring with Zevran or Leliana, determined to strengthen her dagger work with one of the two other rogues in their group. However, Zev was seated in the garden with Niall, eating a plate of cold turkey and potatoes, and Leliana was in the library, speaking with Morrigan and Wynne. The elder mage gave the young man a sympathetic smile as he turned away, but he noted the scowl that formed upon the Witch's lovely face.

In his hand he carried a small, wooden box. It was what was inside that caused his heart to skip, the desire to find his wife that more intense.

Finally, he found her. On the roof, seated beside one of the stone gargoyles that lined the eaves. One leg dangled carelessly over the edge, swinging and banging against the stone, the other bent at an angle along the roof's edge. Her chin rested upon the bent knee as she leaned on one hand, her eyes staring out over the courtyard, toward the village. Her hair was loose from its usual braid, and the breeze caused it to ruffle, creating a slight hallo of yellow-gold about her shoulders and head.

Purposefully making noise, the young man stepped behind his wife, taking a deep breath before settling himself next to her, his legs curled up under him (he could not bring himself to dangle his legs over the roof's edge. It was a long drop.).

The harried sounds of scurrying feet, shouts for order, and general chaos rose from the courtyard and castle as the inhabitants continued to prepare for the march to Denerim.

"So, ah, funny story," Alistair began, his amber eyes fixed upon the box in his hands as he broke the silence between the two. He heard the creak of leather, and knew that Adela was now watching him. He found it difficult to raise his eyes, so he kept them firmly upon the small wooden box.

"I go to our room, fully expecting to find my wife, maybe take a nap, and what do I find?" he gave a slight shrug, letting out a gust of breath. "But this box, tucked under my pillow," he gave a forced chuckle, raising his eyes slightly to note that her face was turned toward him. "Good thing I didn't just hop onto the bed like I usually do."

He now raised his eyes, fixing them upon Adela's blue orbs. There was a cool expression within them, fixed upon him as they were, yet containing none of the anger they had earlier that day.

_Good sign there_, he thought as he looked back to the box, and carefully slid the lid from it. "You know, I've found that, being with you has provided me with plenty of surprises." He knew he would begin rambling, but he couldn't help it. And so he continued. "Finding someone who would accept me, be my friend, let alone decide she loved me enough to want to put up with me for life, well, that was probably the biggest surprise of all."

He glanced up, noting that Adela continued to watch him, but some of the coolness began to fade from her eyes. "And just when I think you can't surprise me any more than you do, well," he paused, his eyes now fixed upon Adela's. "you do." Carefully, almost reverently, he picked up the silver chain, pulling it free of the box, until finally he held the amulet aloft.

A knot formed in his throat, and he swallowed – hard – trying to forcing it down. Blinking away tears, he turned again to his wife, relieved that her eyes had warmed, and a small smile formed upon her perfect lips. "Wherever did you find this?" he asked, his voice very quiet, filled with awe and mild trepidation.

Taking a breath, Adela swung her leg over, turning her back to the courtyard to fully face the man. "Isolde had given it to me. It was shattered from when you had thrown it against the wall. She had kept it, all of these years. When we returned from Orzammar, the Arlessa gave it to me to see to its repair and to return to you."

"So the trips into the village…?"

Adela gave a slight shrug of one shoulder, almost dismissing the pain of the past few days. "Smith Owen certainly is a marvel, isn't he?"

The tears he had managed to blink away came back, slipping from his eyes as he looked down upon the amulet he held once more. "I was so…"

"Stupid? Cruel? _Insane_?" Adela provided, her voice with a slight edge to it. Alistair looked up, his face soft and sorrowful.

"That, and more," he softly remarked. "Can you ever forgive me?"

A frown furrowed her brow at the nearly hopeless, pleading tone in Alistair's voice. Taking a breath, Adela nodded. "I had already forgiven you, Alistair." She offered him a small smile that did not quite reach her eyes as she placed a small hand over his. "But, don't think that you are completely off the hook."

Chuckling ruefully, Alistair nodded as he turned his attention back to the amulet. Twisting the clasp, he moved toward his wife, bringing his hands behind her neck as he carefully placed the amulet about her neck. He could feel her breath upon his cheek, and there was a flutter in his stomach at the sensation. Adela made to protest, but Alistair merely shook his head, his forehead brushing her hair, as he clasped it behind her neck. Carefully, he adjusted her hair back around her neck and shoulders before pulling away, his fingertips skimming along the surface of the amulet that now rested between Adela's breasts.

"Had I had this all along," Alistair said in a near dreamy voice, "I would have given it to you long ago." He raised his amber eyes to hers, a small smile upon his lips. "I am certain my mother would have wanted you to have it."

Adela clasped a hand to his, her eyes intense as she said. "It hurts me to think that you did not trust me, Alistair," her voice was soft, her hand hard as she gripped his. "Talk to me before you ever let these feelings fester again. There is absolutely nothing that you and I cannot discuss." Her eyes were intense as they forced him to stare at her. "_Nothing_ on the Maker's own that you cannot tell me. I do not want a repeat of these last few days." Her eyes hardened slightly as she continued to peer deeply into his eyes, causing him to flinch slightly. She did not ease up, despite his discomfort. "Understand?"

His hand moving from the amulet to clasp over hers, Alistair nodded. "I promise, love."

"Good," she said, a smile crossing her lips and replacing the hardness of her eyes. With a shake of her head she rose gracefully to her feet. "Come. We have to make certain that everyone is ready to leave at morning's first light."

Taking a breath, determined not to let his jealousies or insecurities get the better of him again, Alistair rose and followed his wife from the rooftop.

DA:O

Large, thick fingers brushed along the folded parchment, caressing the smooth edges with roughened skin. Dark, gray eyes glanced up as his wife, heavily pregnant, wobbled into the room, her arms laden with linens as she carried them to the closet. A small smile, carefully guarded but still friendly, crossed her pretty face as she glanced over at her husband as he sat before the fire, thumbing the still unopened message.

She knew who it was from. She knew what that person had meant to her husband, just mere months prior to their own introduction. She also knew that, when they had married, he had not been in love with her, having married her to cement his ties to the surface with a powerful dwarven merchant's guild.

But time had smoothed the ill ease and discomfort of sharing a bed with someone she barely knew, and she knew that, even if she would never be the love of his life, he had an affection for her, and she need not worry.

With a final smile, she continued on her path to their bedroom, leaving her husband once more in silence as he contemplated the letter he held.

Those dark eyes had watched his wife's progress, a small smile answering her own upon his thick lips as his fingers continued to thumb at the parchment. As he turned back, that feeling of relief…of the most profound relief…enveloped him again.

_She lived!_

When he had first received a missive from the throne of Orzammar, he had assumed that it was from King Endrin. His surprise had been complete as he had immediately recognized Serena's perfect and quite noble scrawl upon the envelope within the leathern casing.

That had been less than a month earlier, the missive instructing him to keep his ears and eyes open for allies within the human capital of Denerim. It had not taken him long to make contact with Mother Boann and Ser Landry.

Now, a personal missive sat in his hands. A great sigh escaped his lungs as he grasped the parchment. Serena had never felt for him as he did for her. Those years of serving her had caused a great affection – love – to grow in his heart. However, Serena had never looked at him as anything other than a most trusted friend. Her heart belonged to another. One whom she could never be with as surely as he could never be with her.

Heavy lids closed of his eyes, and he carefully rose, taking the parchment to the nearby desk. He knew he should probably read the letter, but he could not bring himself to at this time, at this moment. Guilt still waged war within him soul; he had abandoned her to the Deep Roads. Had taken her final order – to leave Orzammar and _live_. And he had. His eyes glanced over to the empty doorway, thinking of his wife, Marta, and how important she had come to mean to him.

That guilt that he had lived, had not only survived but, in a relatively short time had established himself quite well upon the surface, all the while believing she had died in the Deep Roads for a crime she had not committed, resurfaced, despite the knowledge that not only had she survived, but had claimed the Throne as her own.

Carefully, he placed the letter upon the desk, the royal seal upwards.

Perhaps he would read the letter tomorrow.


	62. Chapter 62

_My thanks, as always, to those who continue to read, lurk, alert and review!: Wyl, Shakespira, cloud1004, tgail73, Legionary Prime (welcome to a new reviewer!)._

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 62_

Sweat dripped down the side of his face. Frowning, he lifted the visor of the helm he wore to wipe the offending moisture from his brow.

Zevran, marching beside him, chuckled, but said nothing. He had already made offer of a cowled mask, one similar to those used by the Crows on occasion. However, Fergus had argued that using such an obvious measure of concealment would only cause more eyes to move toward him. And so the young nobleman had reconciled himself to wearing the helm similar to those worn by the other soldiers that marched with their group.

There were times that he wished he had taken the Antivan up on his offer.

They were a day's march from Redcliffe and making good time. The Cousland noble turned his head, sharp eyes scanning down the ranks of those who marched with the Grey Wardens and their companions. Not far from where he walked, Arl Eamon – striding purposefully beside Ser Perth – gave him a nod before turning his eyes focused forward once more.

With a frown, unseen beneath the helm, Fergus' eyes continued backwards, to where Isolde and her pretty elven maid sat alongside the dwarven merchant, Bodahn. His peculiar son, Sandal, presumably in the covered back of the wagon.

He took in the solemn expression upon the noblewoman's face, a determination he did not recall ever having seen on her normally tepid features. The scaring and loss of an eye, the loss of her only child to a demon, had matured the Orlesian in ways the passing years had not. He had to admit, the damage done to her typically pretty Orlesian features had added a great deal of character and, to his eyes, perhaps made her a fair more handsome woman for the scarring.

Turning his attention forward once more, the noble reflected upon the general mood of his companions. During their stay at Redcliffe Castle, a palpable pall had settled over the group. There had been infighting and general bad feelings between established couples and close friends, something he had never witnessed amongst the tight knit group in the months he journeyed with them. He had felt it himself, but had never had a direction to focus his own ire upon, never a tangible cause for his feelings of anger, distrust and anxiety.

Perhaps it was the castle itself. It had, after all, seen much death and hardship during these past few months. Many had died, horribly, during the time when Connor had been possessed by the desire demon. It was possible that much of that taint had remained, forever a part of the very stone of the ancient structure, never to be exorcised regardless of passing time.

A shudder coursed through the Teyrn as he considered his own decimated home. So many had met their ends violently at the hands of Howe's men. He could not help but wonder as to the ghosts that roamed the halls of his ancestral home. How many demons now resided within the ancient fortress?

Shaking his head, Fergus cleared his mind of such thoughts. He could not afford to keep letting his thoughts stray to his dead family – his parents, his wife…his son. He would see that they were avenged, but he would do so legally, calling Howe out before the Landsmeet. They had evidence, after all. A survivor in the personage of Ser Gilmore, as well as other soldiers who had managed to escape the slaughter and who now marched mingled amongst Redcliffe's own soldiers. None bearing the standard of Highever, but each with their heads held high and proud, regardless of what heraldry they wore.

They were the men of the Couslands after all. Fergus smiled at that thought, recalling the loyalty of each man, how steadfastly they remained by their Teyrn.

Within days, the gates of Denerim would be seen and passed through. Within days, the Landsmeet would be called to order.

Within days, Howe's dominance from his lofty heights within the Fereldan hierarchy would come to a quick, fast fall, onto the rocks of justice, shattering him upon the unforgiving stone.

This he swore as he continued his march, eyes forward, his heart resolute.

DA:O

Natia grinned up into the sunshine, thoroughly enjoying her trek over the surface, the warmth of the sun upon her face, the loose dirt under foot. This was what a dwarf was born for! She was certain of it. The damp, cold, forbidding stone was no place for living beings to live their days in and out within and beneath.

Oghren, her fellow refugee from Orzammar's depths, did not seem quite as appreciative of the beauty and freedom the surface afforded. Even after these many weeks within the surface realm, he still would glance up at the cloud filled sky, pale trepidation upon his craggy features.

"Aw, c'mon, Oggie!" the young rogue teased, skipping ahead slightly, turning about to walk, backwards, her merry eyes fixed upon the scowling features of the warrior. "This," she spread her arms wide, continuing to skip backwards as she giggled, "is what freedom is!"

"Hrumph!" he spat, scowling deeper at the all too cheerful young dwarf. "Ain't no place for a dwarf, girlie, and you knows it!"

"_Dust Town_ ain't no place for a dwarva lass such as myself!" Natia countered without venom, merely enthusiasm and confidence in her words.

Oghren merely shook his head, scoffing aloud at the young dwarf, but did not argue that Dust Town was no place for someone as full of life as herself.

Scoffing back at the older man, Natia laughed louder, spinning back around to face forward, her laughter filling the air as the group continued their days' long journey to the human city of Denerim.

DA:O

The march onward to Denerim had, for the most part and thus far, been uneventful. Behind them, Zevran marched alongside Fergus. That had been requested by Adela, who remained concerned for the young Teyrn's safety. To their knowledge, no one outside of their group was aware that the Cousland noble had yet remained alive, and that was how they wished to keep it. Alistair felt a pang of sympathy for the man. The sun was beating down upon all of their heads, and, to hide his identity, the young nobleman was required to wear something over his head that also covered his face. The helm of a soldier seemed the best solution as it would not cause unwanted eyes to turn his way.

Of course, that also meant that Fergus would be practically baking within his own armor.

Alistair hated wearing helms. It was one of the many things he had hated during his, thankfully, brief tenure as a Templar in training.

A burst of pleased laughter brought the young Warden's attention forward, and he grinned as he watched as Natia practically danced beneath the sun, obviously teasing Oghren with one thing or another. Alistair liked the young dwarf; despite having led a life of hardships – the like he could only imagine – her very nature, her soul, seemed untouched by any darkness that may have dwelt within her past. She took life day by day, and took great pains to make certain that, at one point at least, she laughed.

When he had asked her about it one time, after a particularly difficult battle with darkspawn, the young girl merely blinked up at the much taller human, and said, "If I don't find the time to laugh once during the day, and jes' let all this blackness and direness get its mitts on me, then what use is tomorrow?"

She had said it with such conviction, followed by the familiar nonchalant shrug of her shoulders that Alistair trusted that her formula for surviving day by day worked.

After all, she was now a trusted servant of the Queen of the dwarves. As Natia would put it, 'not bad for a Duster'.

His eyes left the laughing girl, scanning over the heads of his long time companions. Morrigan, Leliana and Wynne walked ahead, just slightly behind the two dwarves, the younger mage and bard walking close, Wynne obviously giving out advice, if the roll of Morrigan's yellow eyes were any indication.

The Sten was walking point, his strange, lavender eyes fixed upon the shadows of the surrounding trees, _Asala_ held easily in one massive hand as he marched, ever alert. Roland marched alongside Niall, as the mage spoke in his usual quiet tones about something. Roland's brow was furrowed, and Alistair knew that it was from more than merely whatever the mage was discussing.

Since his meltdown, Roland seemed to be avoiding Alistair. Whenever Alistair did spy his fellow warden, the former knight merely gave the senior warden a glare and a frown of disappointment before turning and leaving the area.

Sighing heavily, Alistair turned his sight from his friend. Somehow, what should have been a private argument with Adela had made its rounds along the rumor mill. Obviously, it had gotten to the former knight's ears. Alistair knew that he needed to try and apologize to his friend before too much more time passed, making any apology on his part seem moot.

Behind them, just in front of where Fergus and Zev walked, Anders and Adela walked, speaking quietly with one another, blond heads bent toward each other as they spoke. A smile crossed Alistair's face as he watched Adela's hand move, as expressive as her face. A wide grin crossed the mage's handsome face, and he shook his head, quickly pressing his fingers upon Adela's motioning hands. There was a blue flash, and the elf blinked in surprise. Chuckling, Anders merely shook his head, and the two continued with their discussion.

The smile only left his face as a familiar tingling assaulted his senses, dancing along the periphery of his vision. As he raised his head, readying a shout, Roland and Niall each paused, turning to face each side of the path. Adela came aware of the darkspawn presence, and, in that moment, called out a warning, just as the shadows exploded.

DA:O

There was that faint tingle along her spine, and Adela turned toward the forest lining the path they followed. Beside her, Anders' formally playful mood shifted as he took in the near battle ready stance the young elf had taken. Adela could feel it as he pulled from the Fade for his magic.

Since they had recognized that Adela's Warden sense was lacking, she and the other Wardens had worked hard on her extending her senses, tapping in to what was left of the taint within her blood. Unlike the other three, Adela had to work hard to sense any darkspawn. During the past few weeks, she had learned to set aside a portion of her mind, a part of her senses, so that it was always searching, always alert. It was not perfect, and failed as often as it worked. However, she was getting more able to sense darkspawn.

And today was no exception.

Their black vileness flooded her senses, and it was all she could do to force it back, choking on the evil that flowed from their hive mind. _They were close_. She pulled her daggers, readying for a fight as she shouted out a warning that was relayed down and up their line. Too close for her bow.

Behind her, Anders prepared his magic, and she felt a warmth flow over her, and she realized that the mage had cast a protective spell around her. Some of the anxiety that always came over her when battling darkspawn ebbed, and she lunged forward as the first genlock broke free of the enveloping shadows. The beast grumbled at the elf, its beady eyes following the elf's movements as it raised its own daggers.

Adela, however, feinted slightly to the left, throwing the genlock off balance. As it lunged straight ahead, it swung at empty air. With a smirk, the elf twisted at the waist, swinging her daggers around, burying them deeply through the tough hide covering the darkspawn's body. Her heavily enchanted daggers – her mother's blade, Fang, and Duncan's Dagger (she grimaced as she realized it needed a better name) – dug deeply into the flesh, piercing its kidney. Giving both blades a vicious twist, she yanked them free, barely pausing to take note of the black, bile filled blood that poured from the wounds as the genlock stumbled to its knees. Stepping back in front of the fallen creature, she jabbed both blades into each eye, and the creature flopped to the ground, dead.

Again came the rejuvenating magic of Anders, and she turned to see that the mage had dispatched with a Hurlock of his own. "You'd make a great Warden," Adela remarked as the pair turned to face off against a pair of hurlocks that thundered their way.

"Yeah, sure," the mage quipped, raising his staff – a bladed weapon with runes carved along the length of it – as he prepared another spell. "Too much responsibility!"

He jabbed out with his weapon, causing the approaching Hurlock to stumble back. Then, raising a hand, he called forth a gust of cold, freezing the creature in place. Beside him, Adela lunged and ducked, dancing beneath the sweeping blade of her larger foe. Skipping behind the creature, the elf neatly hamstrung the hurlock, stepping back as it floundered on the ground before ending its existence with a double jab of blades into its eyes.

She twisted, rising to assist Anders, but could only watch as he pulled a chunk of rock from the ground and sent it flying at his still frozen opponent, shattering the beast into multiple, bloody fragments.

With a grin to one another, they turned, Adela plunging into the fray, as the mage stood back, casting alternatively healing and rejuvenating spells upon his companions, adding offensive spells as needed.

_Yes_, the young elf thought as she ducked into the shadows, searching out easy prey for her blades, _the Wardens need more mages_.

DA:O

Adela's call up the line was echoed and repeated by the Wardens, their companions and the soldiers of Redcliffe. With a grim set to his mouth, Fergus easily pulled his greatsword free of the sheath upon his back, bracing his feet and holding the hilt with both hands as he surveyed the path and surrounding wilderness. As one, the shadows broke, spilling out tens of darkspawn, all slavering, rumbling out their dark chuckles as they assaulted the well-armed caravan.

Beside him, Zevran burst into a fury of swirling blades as he dashed into the center of a group of genlocks. The young noble shook his head at the seeming abandon with which the elven assassin attacked the darkspawn, soon seeing the logic behind the elf's movements. Zevran would dip beneath one clumsily swung sword, rising slightly behind the genlock, directly into its blind spot. Lashing out with one of his finely crafted daggers, the elf would score a bloody hit, ducking once more into the shadows as the genlock turned upon its fellow. Soon, the genlocks were a bloody mess upon the trail's floor, killed by their own, and Zevran had slipped into the deep shadows.

Having lost sight of the elusive elf, Fergus swung about, delivering devastating blows to the approaching darkspawn, mindful of the Wardens' admonishment not to get any of the tainted blood within open wounds or swallowing any. Fully armored and helmed as he was, Fergus was certain he was well protected.

A grim smile crossed his face as he heard the familiar Highever war cry as it rose from the throat of Roland. Taking a deep breath, the Teyrn added his voice to that of the former knight's, driving forward with his blade, pushing through with armored elbows, felling many of the surrounding darkspawn as he waded through.

DA:O

Hours later, once the battle had been won, the bodies of both the darkspawn and those who died fighting them set to pyres, Adela flopped against a thick, old tree, sliding down its rough surface to sit at its base, her head back against the tough bark. Her blue eyes skimmed the area, counting out her companions – all of whom had survived. They actually lost very few – all soldiers of Redcliffe, those determined to protect the Arl and Arlessa. Fortunately, none of the brutes stood a chance against the skill and determination of those brave knights.

Her eyes focused closer as Anders paced with determined steps toward her, an annoyed expression upon his handsome face. Grinning up at him, the elf patted the earth beside her, inviting the mage to sit.

Frowning heavily at the spot, Anders gestured grandly at his soiled robes. "I hope that there's a stipend to replace these," he groused as he gathered his robes and gingerly sat beside the grinning elven woman.

"Oh," Adela _tsked_ with a smirk, "did the big, bad mage get his robes all dirty?"

Rubbing at an offending stain, Anders scowled at the woman. "This will never come out! What am I supposed to do?"

Blinking, the elf's eyes went to the stain – grass and blood – the mage indicated. "The robes are still useable, Anders. You'll just have to wear them for now."

"You don't seem to understand, Adela," Anders' voice took on an overly patient quality, much like one assumed when speaking with a very small child. Adela's grin only widened at the tone. "I have an image to uphold."

"An image?" Adela shook her head, laughing as she looked up to note the approach of her husband. Alistair paused mere feet from the pair as Adela addressed him. "Alistair," the man looked at his wife, noting her grin, and smiled in return. "Were you aware that Anders here has an image to uphold? And dirty, bloody robes does not fit into that image?"

With an exaggerated shake of his red-blond head, Alistair's face twisted into the perfect image of mock sympathy. "Poor mage. Whatever will he do?"

Shaking her head, Adela pushed herself to her feet, brushing the dirt and grass from her leathers as she smirked at the glaring mage. "I don't know. 'Tis a quandary, certainly!"

"You are evil," the mage continued to grouse as he pushed himself to his feet, glaring at the laughing pair as he turned about. "I'd get more sympathy from Morrigan!"

"Now that I doubt!" Alistair rejoined with a chuckle, his laughter bursting forward as the mage turned his back on the two, giving both a rather rude gesture as he stomped away.

"Poor Anders," Adela giggled as she turned to her husband. "I shouldn't pick on him, but really? He's concerned about a small blood stain!"

"Give him a few more weeks with us," Alistair predicted as he put an arm across Adela's narrow shoulders, pulling her closer. "He'll soon forget about his image."

Shaking her head, the elf lightly punched Alistair in the stomach before pulling free of his hold. Alistair shivered at the loss of contact. "I doubt it. Anyway," she stepped away, indicating the line of soldiers and their companions. "Now that we've taken care of the deceased, we should probably order the line to resume their march."

"Anxious to get to Denerim?" Alistair asked, a slight furrow between his brow. Nodding, Adela continued to brush the dirt from her armor as she picked up the pace toward their companions.

"We need to get the Landsmeet out of the way," she reminded her fellow warden as she glanced over her shoulder to him. "The sooner we get that taken care, get Loghain and Anora away from the blood mage and whomever his cohorts are, the better."

Taking a deep breath, Alistair followed after his wife, feeling much of the anxiety he was certain she was feeling.


	63. Chapter 63

_Sorry for the delay in updating. I've been ill and just could not get my mind to read anything, let alone write._

_Anyway, here it is – Denerim at last! My thanks to everyone who continues to read from the shadows, alert (I've gotten quite a few more!) and, most especially, review: Wyl, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville, cloud1004._

_I struggled with this chapter; just trying to pull the loose threads together. It wasn't until I got to the end that I really got momentum. And, then, I had to stop!_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 63_

Denerim was very…gray. That was the only way for the elf to describe the city that had been her home until a year ago. Gray, sad, foreboding.

_Tainted_.

It was not so much of color, although the capitol city of Ferelden had seemed to lose much of the vibrancy it had sported – the reds and greens that were popular for people to paint their homes; the numerous floral gardens that lined the walkways and trimmed the small parks that even the more desolate market place had sported. Oh, Adela knew enough of history and that those of other nations saw Ferelden and its natives as backwoods, barbaric and, well, greatly lacking in style.

But to the small elven woman, Denerim had been the very embodiment of Ferelden's people: hardy, strong, stalwart, and colorful.

The Denerim she now faced was a shadow of itself, as all color had seemed to bleed out of the ancient city, taking on the pallor of the sky above.

Alistair seemed to sense something, as he stepped closer to his wife, his amber eyes scanning the environment, anticipating trouble. Arl Eamon and his retinue hung back, waiting for the Wardens to lead the way, secure that, with a Landsmeet being called, no one would be foolish enough to try and collect on the bounty upon the heads of the Wardens.

Adela glanced back, taking note that the two guardsmen – young men she did not recognize, but who had, obviously recognized her and allowed them to pass without incident. Both were making a great show of guarding the gate, but the elf noticed the occasional glances the pair threw at the Wardens and their companions.

The look in their eyes was one of almost pure, unadulterated hero worship.

Shaking her head, trying to shake away the uneasy feeling that overcame her when looking at the young soldiers, the Commander of the Grey turned back down the road, Alistair beside her, leading their train of nobles, soldiers, warriors, mages and rogues to where the Arl of Redcliffe kept his townhouse, just off the eastern corner of the Market place.

DA:O

"Are you certain about this?" there was worry in Howe's voice as he watched as Arawn marched into the room, Loghain directly behind him. The Arl of Denerim noticed that the Teyrn's pace was surefooted and certain, his icy blue eyes scanning the room with his usual wariness, his perpetual scowl in place. That caused the conspirator to pause, his gray eyes searching that of their blood thrall, searching for any indication that he was, indeed, under the blood mage's power.

Arawn noticed his friend's scrutiny, and allowed a small smile – one that was all too infrequent these days – to cross his handsome, if not haggard, face.

"Have no fears, my dear friend," the mage all but purred as he patted the Teyrn upon the shoulder. Loghain turned his head, his scowl deepening as those uncanny eyes settled upon the offending hand. Chuckling, Arawn removed his hand as he circled Loghain.

"He is, indeed, fully under my power," the mage continued. "With the branding, our Teyrn's personality and characteristics come through; however, his actions are ours to command."

Cauthrien, who was seated next to Elissa on a nearby settee, rose, her eyes searching Loghain's. The Teyrn followed her movements, eyes narrowing slightly, that familiar grim line of lip telling of his displeasure. An expression he had never had cause to throw in her direction.

But that was before Ostagar, before his former Lieutenant had come to see the truth of the man and his legend. Seen how readily he was to allow Cailan to allow the Orlesians into their country, to once again gain a foothold into their proud, ancient country.

He remained silent, those icy eyes following the knight's movements, and she felt ill at ease at the scrutiny, and wished, just _wished_, that he would say something – _anything_ – against what she had done, what she was going to do.

And do so willingly.

"Will he speak?" the knight asked after a moment, the feeling of apprehension coming over her.

"Indeed," Arawn stated, stepping back in front of the Teyrn of Gwaren. Loghain's eyes were once more upon the mage, narrowed further with obvious distaste. "Greetings, Teyrn Loghain."

Eyes still narrowed but the scowl lessening somewhat, Loghain replied, "And to you, Chancellor Arawn."

"Is it not possible that he is dissembling?" Elissa asked, a frown upon her pretty face, as Rendon moved to take Cauthrien's place by the side of his young lover.

Smirking at the noblewoman, the mage moved behind the Teyrn, lifting the raven hair to display the brands, now glowing with a faint blue-white. "He cannot free himself of the brands," the mage remarked with firm confidence, settling the hair back to the man's neck.

The Nevarran mage turned back to his coconspirators, a self-satisfied smile upon his lips. "I believe that you should prepare yourselves to meet the Arl of Redcliffe and his…guests."

DA:O

They had only arrived an hour prior to the announcement that Teyrn Loghain and his retinue were approaching the townhouse. Barely enough time for the Wardens and their companions to stow their still unpacked gear in the rooms provided by the Arl.

Fergus was shepherded to a small room off the main hall, where the Arl had determined he and the Wardens would greet their guests. From this room, the young Teyrn would be able to watch and hear everything said during the meeting.

The other companions were scattered in other rooms just off the hall, weapons ready, spells prepared, in case the meeting broke out into violence.

Roland paced behind Adela and the other three Wardens, earning a deep frown from the Arl and a sharp glance from Adela. Running his hands through his loose, red hair, he ceased his pacing, taking a firm stance, hand upon the pommel of his sword as he quieted his body, but could not quiet his heart.

Word had reached them that Arl Howe was one of Loghain's companions.

The former knight of Highever was uncertain if he could restrain his temper, but one look at Adela's face – tight with her own anxiety – helped to calm his own frayed nerves, ease the tension growing within him. The need to simply coil and pounce, sword leading the way, the pierce the viper's heart and cease its beats.

A deep breath calmed those thoughts, pushing them away.

Time for Howe's reckoning will come. Just not today.

As one, the small group turned as the great doors to the hall opened, heralding in Loghain, followed closely by Cauthrien and Howe.

Adela took one small step forward, her eyes fixed upon the striding form of the man she had known all of her life as a friend. She watched as his steps were purposeful and confident, his eyes scanning the area around him, as always searching out any threat.

To her, he seemed himself, fully in control of his faculties.

It was only once he was standing before them, his blue eyes cold, scanning over the group, passing over her as though she was a stranger, that she knew her initial impression to be far from correct.

"Ah, Eamon," Loghain's gravelly voice echoed throughout the large chamber. "I see that you have recovered from your illness."

A gray brow rose, a frown forming upon the Arl's prematurely lined face. "Why don't you call your poison for what it is?" The Arl snarled.

Hands clasped behind him, Loghain paced a few steps before the Arl, turning to face the man once more. Despite being more than a decade his senior, at this time Loghain appeared younger than the prematurely aged Arl. The Arl had made a remarkable recovery, having marched alongside his men during the trip to Denerim. However, the poisoning and subsequent imprisoning in Connor's desire demon's realm had taken its toll on the man. And Loghain appeared more than ready to take advantage.

He moved closer, towering over the Arl's slightly stooped form. "Have you accusations to make?" the Teyrn asked, blue eyes narrowing.

The Arl's gray eyes searched Loghain's face. Seeing nothing, he reversed tactics. "I would hope you would not put the country through any further…indignities and allow us to face the threat of the Blight."

"Then stop this nonsense, Eamon," the Teyrn implored. "You can be the voice of reason. Call off the other nobles, have them cease their ridiculous infighting and step to our side. Only together can we defeat this darkspawn incursion!"

Loghain's voice had risen, echoing throughout the large chamber. Once the ringing of the man's voice had ceased, Eamon shook his head. "You make it sound as though I have something to do with the civil war." He frowned as he took a step closer. "I have been in a coma, thanks to your blood mage. Had it not been for these Grey Wardens…" he moved his hand to indicate Adela and the others, who had remained silent as they watched the exchange between the nobles. Behind them, Roland seethed, his eyes piercing into Howe's smug face.

"Ah, yes," Loghain turned to scrutinize Adela, who raised her eyes to stare directly into Loghain's. She swallowed down the ill feeling as those eyes seemed to not recognize her. "I am sorry for what happened to your Order on the field," he continued. "A shame they chose to turn traitor at so ill an opportunity."

"They turned traitor?" Alistair's voice broke in, anger in his tone. The young warden knew of Adela's Fade walking, knew that she suspected Loghain was being held in thrall to a blood mage. And he did believe her. However, the anger and pain of the treachery they had suffered at Ostagar rose up, and he had to release it. Besides, he had a role to play. And angry Warden suited him just fine at this moment. "It wasn't the Grey Wardens to turn traitor that day!"

Blue eyes rose, taking in the form of the young man. A black brow rose in recognition. "Ah, so this is Maric's bastard." He turned to look back to Eamon, once again ignoring the Wardens. "The one you wish to put forth to the Landsmeet as King." Loghain shook his dark head, the scowl firmly in place. "The nation already has a strong ruler, Eamon. Anora is the Queen, and I shall lead the armies!"

"Yeah, great job you did at Ostagar," Alistair continued vehemently, ignoring the glare Adela shot at him.

"Silence, churl," Cauthrien cut in, her voice condescending as her pale gaze settled upon the young Theirin son. "Your betters are speaking."

"Oh?" Adela spoke up, her eyes going to Cauthrien, who glared at the elf with barely disguised hatred. Adela's blue eyes scanned over the three, settling upon Loghain for a moment before returning to the female knight. "When we see any who are our betters, we'll be sure to hold our tongues."

Howe's eyes narrowed, but an amused grin crossed his hawk-like features at the elf's comments as his scrutiny of the young elf turned to open admiration. Cauthrien continued to glare at the elf, but Loghain's attention was now turned to the girl. Adela turned her own eyes to him, watching as something flashed through the man's blue eyes. A moment of recognition, she was certain of it, and she sought to press him.

"Loghain," she stepped closer, her eyes searching the Teyrn's once more. There was a familiar, albeit faint, flutter in her stomach as she stood near the man, staring up into the familiar planes of his features. His eyes were shuttered now, and unreadable. "Loghain," she repeated, a soft whisper. "I know you are in there somewhere."

Her companions – including Eamon – remained quiet. There was a faint gasp from Cauthrien, and Howe chuckled. Loghain merely stared back at the elf for another moment before turning once more to Eamon.

"Call off this Landsmeet, Eamon," the Teyrn implored. "Allow the nobles to defend their homeland against the darkspawn. There is still a place for you amongst the defenders."

Shaking his gray head, Eamon allowed a small sigh to escape his lips. "Loghain, this madness you have carried out…it harms Ferelden as much as the darkspawn do. Call off your armies, pull them in and step down as Regent, so that we can get the true business of defeating this Blight!"

"And what of Anora?" Loghain remarked.

"She is not of the Theirin blood line, Loghain." Eamon replied back. "Alistair is."

"Sure," behind the Arl Alistair muttered as Adela turned her glare to the nobleman. "No pressure there."

Eyes hardened, and Loghain spun about abruptly. "We shall see you and your puppet at the Landsmeet by week's end, Eamon," came the Teyrn's parting words, tossed over his departing shoulder as Loghain and his companions stalked from the chambers.

Once the Teyrn and the others were out of sight, Eamon released a sigh of relief. Turning to the others, taking note of Fergus' emergence from the small room, he remarked. "Well, I had not expected him to reveal himself quite so soon."

Adela's eyes remained upon the doors, still opened to the townhouse's exit. "I see you haven't given up on trying to force me on the throne," Alistair quipped irritably as Adela turned, a concerned expression upon her face.

Eamon shook his head. "Merely a politician's tactic, my young man," his voice was soothing as he patted the irritated young Warden upon the shoulder. "Perhaps we can use it as a bargaining chip."

Niall, who had remained quietly standing directly behind the Arl during the entire exchange, turned to look at the Arl. The man appeared smug, as though he had somehow managed to win a victory. However, the mage was unable to discern what that victory could possibly be.

Beside him, Roland's tension had eased, although his green eyes remained fixed upon the still open doors. Slouching his shoulders slightly, Niall reached over and patted the young warrior upon the arm, pulling his attention back to his fellows.

"What do we do now?" Alistair asked of the Arl, pulling everyone's attention back to their companions. The irritation still remained in the young Warden's voice, but it was obvious he was striving against it.

Running his hands through his hair, Eamon resumed pacing. "Not all of the nobles have arrived yet. It is our hope to call the Landsmeet by week's end. I would suggest," he stopped his pacing, eyes fixed upon Adela now. "that you unpack and then scour the city. Speak with as many as you can. Find out what has been happening here during our absence. The more information we have, the better prepared for the Landsmeet we shall be."

"Sounds like as good a plan as any," Adela remarked, frowning, her eyes once more going to the door way. She did not notice Eamon's attention upon her, his eyes narrowed and a slight frown upon his face.

DA:O

They had split up, deciding to blanket the city in as small a period of time as possible. Leliana led a group comprised of Zevran and Anders along the Red District, searching out gossip that normally could be found for a coin or two at such notable establishments as the brothel, _The Pearl_ and the popular tavern, _Warden's Whip_. The former bard knew well that nobles tended to frequent the less reputable establishments to whet their particular appetites, and quite often gossip and rumor followed hand in hand. Alistair had merely rolled his eyes as the bard explained this to the more sheltered of their companions – most notably, Alistair and Adela.

Familiar with the Market Place and surrounding taverns, eateries and shops, Adela led a group that consisted of Wynne, Natia and Roland. Roland canvased the _Gnawed Noble_ while the elven and dwarven rogues scoured the Market Place and shops, sifting through the plethora of concerned talk and anxious gossip as Wynne engaged the tranquil clerk at the _Wonders of Thedas_ before making a call at the Chantry grounds, chatting up the Templars and priests who tended to prowl the grounds.

Alistair's group was formed of himself, the Sten and Oghren, this group traipsing through the Dock District, engaging the talkative sailors and dock workers, skimming information on the incoming and outgoing vessels and other gossip that always managed to find its way to the watery boundaries of any port city.

Fergus had been left behind, much to his chagrin, at the townhouse, kept company by Morrigan, Niall and Gail, who helped him pore over the books in the Arl's vast library, pulling any and all references to protocol and motions set at the Landsmeet. While Fergus would be able to tutor his Warden companions well enough, he wanted to be prepared for any surprise that may greet them once the Landsmeet had finally been called to order.

He recalled many times his father recounting surprise motions coming forward at past Landsmeets, and how precedence had been set many times. The young Teyrn was certain that this upcoming Landsmeet would more assuredly see some startling revelations and calls before the day was through.

DA:O

Adela flopped unceremoniously upon the large bed provided her and Alistair. Her feet ached and her throat was dry. However, it had been a successful day, all told.

Very successful.

Gossip, rumor and innuendo abounded within the capitol city of Ferelden. Most were worthless – just fears and speculation on the part of frightened and wearied souls.

Everything from Anora being dead to the Grand Cleric was, indeed, the Archdemon, seemed to be making its winding way through the streets and taverns of the city.

However, if one gleaned enough, listened with sharp ears, one could sift the wheat from the chaff.

And most of the groups came back with enough 'wheat' to piece together what was occurring within the ancient city.

Leliana reported that, within different quarters of the city, a rogue group of Warden supporters was growing, pulling together their resources to assist when the time came for the Wardens to call. The bard determined that she would return, alone, to the Warden's Whip to try and learn more that very evening. As a matter of fact, Adela believed that their lovely bard was already making her way through the seedier parts of the city.

The sailors and dockworkers were a talkative bunch, and many were more than willing to compare notes with hardy warriors such as Alistair and Oghren, allowing their curiosity of the mighty Qunari warrior to loosen their tongues even more. There was a great curiosity centered upon the near steady stream of vessels from Tevinter arriving and debarking during the last few months. However, none of those the trio of warriors had spoken with could provide information on why, exactly, Tevinter ships had made port at the docks. It was a matter that the warriors decided one of the rogues – Zevran, more than likely – would be better suited to root out the answer to that question.

Wynne had a very nice discussion with a pair of Templars at the Chantry, although neither really provided anything solid for the group to follow up. Their discussion centered mostly upon the death of the Grand Cleric at Ostagar as well as the unease of the poorer citizens of Denerim. One of the Templars, an older man whose mind was deteriorating after so long usage of Lyrium, had stated he felt sorry for the elves in the alienage. When Wynne pressed what he meant, he stumbled along his words, explaining how a fellow Templar had gone in to investigate a concern of demonic activity within the decimated ghetto. He could provide nothing further other than that said Templar had not been seen for over a week.

That news had affect Adela strongly, enforcing the concern she had felt for her former home. Her efforts in the market place had proved fruitless, no one willing to speak directly to her as either a Grey Warden or an elf. Natia fared about as well as the elf had.

Roland had managed to confirm the growing lack of confidence in Loghain and Anora from the nobles, many who found their way to the Gnawed Noble seeking information of the Grey Wardens. The young knight had been pleased to learn that many of the nobles were more than ready to give their support to the Wardens, should they prove strong enough to oppose and depose Loghain and his cronies.

Teyrn Howe's name came up more than once, all attached to nefarious rumors that no one could prove.

And so now, after spending all day scouring the city, the elf felt that they were on the right path. But there was a niggling along her senses, something she was missing, something that she needed to delve into further. However, it was out of reach, just beyond the periphery of her mind's eye.

But it felt something so obvious…she shook her head, turning to her stomach to bury her face into Alistair's pillow. She could hear the splashing of water from the washroom as her husband busied himself with washing the day's dirt and dust from his skin. Despite the homey sounds – the water splashing, Alistair's off key humming – something felt strangely amiss to the young elf.

It was that feeling that always came over her whenever they were at Redcliffe Castle. The ill ease, the corrupted flow of the air itself. She had not noticed it as they marched along the road to Denerim, the open air about them, Arl Eamon striding purposefully by Ser Perth's side, amidst his own soldiers and knights, those of Highever marching stoically about Fergus and the Wardens and their Companions. But here, in the confines of this townhouse, the pain and sorrow that permeated the ancient fortress at Redcliffe was making its presence felt within the more modern structure of the townhouse.

Abruptly she jerked up into a seated position, her head twisting to stare at the closed door to their chambers, another realization coming upon her.

All of Denerim had felt this way. Corrupted sorrow, copper and iron upon the air, as humid and tainted as the Deep Roads, but worse, for they were in the open air, not surrounded by the depths of earth that had long been exposed to the taint for centuries untold.

Her breath caught in her throat, and her chest heaved with the desire to just _breathe_. Urgently, she pushed off the bed, ignoring Alistair's concerned stare as she made her way from their chambers. The need to get _out_ a most palpable and urgent need.

Trailing behind her, towel still in hand, Alistair could only follow as his wife – whom he believed to be hyperventilating by now – scurried passed startled servants and guards, forcing her way through the huge doors that led out to the townhouse's courtyard.

He found her, bent over, hands to her knees. Behind him the sounds of scurrying feet brought him round, and he watched as Niall and Anders rushed to the elf's side, healing magic already aglow upon the blond mage's hands as Niall bent down beside Adela, one square hand upon her back, speaking soothing words as Anders cast about with his rejuvenating and healing spells. Carefully, Alistair made his way to his wife's side, a question upon his face. Another set of footfalls and Roland was there, watching with concern upon his face.

And, despite that his wife was obviously struggling with something – something physical and emotional and _worrying_ as the two mages worked their spells upon her - Alistair could not quell that feeling – that old jealousy – that threatened to blur his vision and choke him alive.

Only when Adela was standing straight, Niall's hand still upon her shoulder, an almost embarrassed apologetic expression upon her face, that Alistair moved away from the man who had once – _once_ – been his rival, to peer with concern into his wife's face.

However, that feeling did not leave him as Roland continued to watch as Adela struggled to recover from whatever affliction had come over her.

And that jealousy was subverted by anger – anger toward himself, toward Roland – and would not release him from its grasp, even as Adela stepped to him, allowing him to put his arms about her shoulders, holding her, squeezing her tightly to his side. He could feel her shuddering breaths, the warmth as Anders cast one last rejuvenating spell upon the elven warden, and he bent his head down, to place a comforting kiss upon the top of her blonde head.

And still, the ill ease and tension would not leave him, not until Roland had moved away, to speak with the mages, as Alistair turned to lead Adela back into the house.


	64. Chapter 64

_Well, this chapter was going to be longer, but it started feeling forced, so I figured I'd end it where I did. My thanks, as always, to those who continue to read and review, to those new readers and reviewers, and for the alerts and lurkers. Legionary Prime, Shakespira, cloud1004, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Wyl – thank you for your reviews._

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 64_

The dwarven merchant stared beyond his stall, unable to fully comprehend his good fortune as he watched the elven girl walk away, wandering over to the stalls to listen in on gossip and question the vendors. However, he knew he was correct in his assertion that the girl was, in fact, the Grey Warden. Serena's description had been quite accurate.

A small, nostalgias smile crossed his lips as he thought how very like his princess – nay, his Queen – to be so detailed.

Turning quickly, Gorim pulled out a slip of paper, upon which had been penned an order for a dagger inscribed with the Sword of Mercy. Whistling over to one of the nearby boys, who had been loitering about, waiting a chance to earn a copper or two from the vendors, he carefully folded the receipt before handing it off to the boy, sending him off to the Chantry with instructions that the receipt be given to Mother Boann.

DA:O

The elven woman glared at the door, her arms laden with her mistress's evening meal. The tension within the palace had worsened over the weeks. Erlina had tried to keep Anora safe, well away from the leering eyes of Howe, the passive hostility of the Chancellor. Anora had questioned her maid servant repeatedly about the goings on at the palace. And all Erlina would do was shake her pretty head and deny any knowledge to the queen.

Trained as she was in subterfuge and duplicity, even the elven bard found the entire drama she was mired within wearing at times.

No longer did she know, truly, which side of the board she played. Carefully she balanced the tray to open the door that lead into the massive set of suites set aside for the queen's use.

The bard no longer cared which side she was allied to. Things had spiraled well out of control, and even her handlers were uncertain which direction to send her in. And so, had remained silent, leaving the bardic trained elf to her own devices.

_Bâtards_.

Carefully she tipped the door closed with a brush of one hip, carrying the tray full of food she was certain Anora would not eat to the nearby table. As she set up the service, she called out to the queen, all servile niceties having long since been set aside during the sequestering of the Queen of Ferelden.

The elf paused in her movements, frowning and straightening, turning to gaze about the chambers.

Anora had not answered the elf's call, and that immediately set the well trained bard on edge.

She had already made her presence within the chambers known. And so silence would no longer be her ally here. She again called out Anora's name, standing in the room's center, almond shaped eyes narrowed at the door which led to the queen's private chamber. Cautiously, the elf moved from room to room, keeping the doors open behind her as she sought out the queen.

There was no answering call, no queenly form to greet her eyes.

Anora was not in her chambers.

Immediate and intense panic threatened to sweep over the elf, and she viciously forced it down, using every ounce of her training to regain calm.

Just one more wrench thrown into the works.

The elf groaned, scowling down at the service, her quick mind working through the events of the day, trying to retrace her steps, and recreate what she assumed would be Anora's.

She had left the queen mere hours before, Anora claiming a migraine and the need for rest. Erlina knew that Anora had been ill of late, having suffered greatly from migraines that would assault her without warning. Knowing those that conspired against the rightful ruler of Ferelden, Erlina had scouted out the queen's chambers, certain that the human woman was being poisoned.

The bard was uncertain how she could be. The elf had taken up the duty of preparing and serving the queen her meals months before when the first of her migraines had occurred. And those meals not served within her chambers were taken with others, none of whom had exhibited any signs of illness.

Unless someone was poisoning her plate directly.

She was not willing at this juncture to admit that perhaps the queen's maladies were natural in cause. And so she had spent that day, apart from Anora, searching out every cubby and shelf of the kitchens and adjoining rooms of the kitchen staff, certain to locate the poison being used.

It was with little surprise that she had found nothing.

Swiftly she turned about, stalking from the rooms, trying to work through how she would learn of the queen's location.

Elissa, the spoiled noblewoman, would be of no help. The arrogant _shem_ looked down her regal nose at the elven bard – the queen's servant – at every opportunity, scarcely belittling herself to even acknowledge the elven woman's presence.

There would be no answers forthcoming there.

She had long since been cast from Arawn's inner circle, her role as the queen's maid servant subsuming any previous role she had played in the mage's play for power. And Howe would certainly not talk. He was too close to Arawn and would scarce risk his own fate by discussing things he would not be at liberty to.

And Cauthrien…the woman's hatred of elves was well known.

Her firm strides faltered, and she skipped a step, stumbling slightly. She paused, her eyes turning back toward the eastern wing. She knew someone who may well have at least an answer for her.

And that someone still felt beholden to the elven bard.

DA:O

The Wardens and their companions had continued to keep themselves busy. Leliana had a solid lead on a group of Warden sympathizers, and, with the assistance of Zevran, the pair of rogues were following any and all leads. Their hope was to meet up with a representative of the organization.

Adela, Roland, Natia and Wynne were back out, scouring the market place for information. Alistair had become increasingly agitated and so Adela decided to leave him behind, uncertain where the agitation originated from, but guessing that Arl Eamon's constant suggestion of his taking the throne having something to do with it.

It was a guess, the only one she could come up with. Alistair refused to speak with her about whatever it was that was bothering him.

They had spent the morning speaking with the vendors, tavern patrons, and market goers. Wynne had once again made the short walk to the Chantry, chatting up the Templars and the few priests that roamed the grounds. All they got for their efforts were the same as they had previously: people were worried. Some were looking for someone – anyone – to blame, and Loghain's name came up in harsh whispers as often as had Howe's, the new Arl of Denerim. Of course talks of the civil war, the darkspawn and the potential Blight were always found upon the denizens' of the city lips.

Adela led the other three back to the Arl's townhouse beneath the tumultuous gray skies, emotionally weary, mentally torn, hoping that Leliana and Zevran had managed to glean more information about the sympathizers, for she had no idea where next to go.

Ignoring the servants as she trudged up the stairs that led to the living quarters, Adela paused, lifting her head. Motioning the others to continue on, she turned at the top of the stairs, heading toward the large sitting room that was originally part of the Arl's living quarters but now was being used by the Wardens as their conference room.

It was a comfortable room, lined with book shelves containing various tomes of history, language, stories, poems, and the like. Comfortable chairs, couches and settees were central most of the chamber, and Adela, despite herself, found that she was impressed with the nobleman. Despite being married to an Orlesian noble, the furnishings of the modern townhome were comfortable and serviceable, rather than opulent, ostentatious and uncomfortable.

Alistair and Eamon both stood in the room, speaking with an unfamiliar elven woman with dark hair, dressed as a noble's servant. Upon her entering, Alistair's face – formerly solemn – split in a wide grin as he moved to greet his wife. Smiling up into his face, she then turned as the elven woman turned to meet her eyes.

Brown met blue, and the elven women acknowledged one another with a nod as Eamon spoke.

"Commander," the Arl greeted without preamble as he moved around the table to move closer to the Warden. "This young woman tells me that she has news…"

The elven woman did not wait for the Arl to finish. With great urgency, she surged forward, slim, soft hands grasping the calloused ones of the elven Warden. "The Queen is in grave danger and in need of your assistance!"

Chuckling slightly, Eamon shook his head. "Perhaps the young woman wishes to speak for herself."

Adela did not hear the Arl's words, her focus completely upon the other elf now. _Anora was in danger_…"What has happened?" Adela asked, tightening her grip upon the other woman's hands.

Taking a deep breath, the elf began again. "My name is Erlina. I am Queen Anora's servant," Adela's eyes narrowed slightly. She did not recognize Erlina or her name, but of course she had been gone for a year. And, there was no missing the heavy Orlesian accent. Nodding her head once, she urged the other to continue. Stuttering along, she carefully extricated her hands from Adela's firm grasp, wringing them in front of her as she paced.

"I went to bring Her Majesty her meal. When I arrived, she was gone." The elf shook her head as she turned to stare at the other woman, fear and concern in her deep brown eyes. "I searched the palace, only to learn that she was taken to Teyrn Howe's estates."

_Howe_. His name was coming up all too frequently. "At the Arl's of Denerim estates?" the Warden clarified, and Erlina nodded in earnest.

"Why would he take her there?" Alistair asked, frowning deeply at the woman. Eamon watched the exchange with great interest, his gray eyes betraying none of his thoughts.

Shaking her head, the elven servant turned to meet Alistair's eyes boldly. "I do not know," she said truthfully, frowning deeply. "But she is gone, the Arl is missing, as is a mage in the service of the Chancellor."

"I have heard little of this new Chancellor and have yet to meet the man," Eamon put in, frowning in thought as he brought a hand to rub at his beard. Turning his gray eyes to the elf, he asked, "What do you know of him?"

Taking a breath, the servant shook her dark head. "Little. His name is Arawn, and he is highly thought of by many of the nobles," Erlina lied smoothly. She did not want her part in the conspiracy to come to light, not at this time. Right now, they needed to get Anora away from Howe. Everything else was secondary.

Especially once she managed to secure an escape route for herself.

The bard knew she was walking on dangerous ground here, coming to the stronghold of the Wardens. However, she had become fond of the Queen and, with Arawn and the others carefully closing her out of the plot, she feared for her own safety. Saving Anora was the best and surest way to ensure her continued existence.

By helping the Wardens, she could do so.

DA:O

"I am not arguing with you about this, Alistair," Adela sighed again as she tugged on the servant's dress she borrowed from Gail. Despite the red head being taller than Adela, the dress fit fairly well, traveling down to her ankles rather than mid-calf. Fortunately, Gail was slender, so a little tucking was all that was required for it to fit around Adela's small body.

"Adela…" Alistair started, coming alongside the bed, staring down at his wife. "You need me there…"

Shaking her head, brushing down her skirts, Adela replied, "No. I need you here," she looked up. "If any of our allies show up while we're at this, we need a senior Warden – my Second – _You_ here to meet them. If Leliana and Zev come up with any leads on the Warden sympathizers, they need you here to report to and direct their next move."

She was talking as she moved away toward the mirror, checking the heavy braids Gail had woven into her hair. Frowning, she brushed a stray lock aside, staring at her reflection.

"What if they recognize you?" Alistair asked, not giving up. If he wasn't going to accompany her, then she wasn't going…

"I am an elf," she said for perhaps the tenth time since Alistair began the argument, just minutes ago. "No one notices what an elf looks like. _Especially_ a woman." She looked into Alistair's less than pleased face and frowned. "I don't like it, but that's the way things are. And, for now, it works in our favor."

"Send someone else," Alistair supplied, "Roland can lead. He's led teams before." He paused, looking down at her, "Although, given his animosity toward Howe, is he really the wise choice to bring?" He backed away from that argument at the glare his wife shot him, hands raised, palms forward, in surrender. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Send Natia…"

But Adela simply dismissed that argument with a shake of her head and wave of her hand. "Anora will need someone there that she knows and trusts. I don't like Erlina going with us at all. To be honest, I'm not certain I fully trust her. However, as Anora's personal servant, she may be able to wheedle out her location. And, if I'm not there, Anora may think that her servant is being coerced." Letting out a sigh, she looked back into her husband's face, brushing a small hand across his brow. "This is how it has to be, Alistair. Please do not make this more difficult by fighting me."

"Thought that was my job," he groused, surrendering his battle in the face of Adela's logic with a scowl.

A small chuckle escaped her lips. "No, it's not. Point out when you disagree: yes; come up with alternative plans: yes. But this," she waved a hand between the two of them, "constant back and forth, arguing for argument's sake: no." Relenting, she tucked herself against him, wrapping her arms about his waist. After a moment, Alistair returned the gesture. "In and out. We get in, get Anora, get out."

_Nothing ever went that easy, especially not for this group._ He knew Adela was merely trying to placate him, and it annoyed him even further. However, he knew he would not – could not – win this argument, and so Alistair merely nodded his head. Smiling up into his face, Adela softly said, "Thank you," as she extricated herself from his embrace.

"Niall and Oghren will be accompanying us. If what Erlina has told us as well as what I've heard on the street, Howe has been hiring in mercenaries, so Oghren won't stick out like a sore thumb. They can't wear their best armor, otherwise then they would stand out, so it's a good thing we've kept much of our older stuff."

She swept across the floor to pick up a shall, continuing to talk as she moved. "Niall has practiced and fought in light leather armor and will be wearing that. I'll have Roland's shield to protect me, Niall's magic to put me back together again as well as rend any opposition apart. And," she bent over, pulling up a pair of knives from each boot so she did not see the grimace that crossed Alistair's face. They were not her usual weapons – Fang and Duncan's Blade – but smaller, thinner blades that easily fit into the ankle sheaths that disappeared nicely within her low, soft boots. "I'll have some bite as well."

She looked up, seeing Alistair's frown back in place. "I don't like going in unarmored and nearly unarmed, especially without my bow. But, as an elf, I cannot go in as a guard member. As a servant, I'll be able to get into places the others won't be able to."

"Still don't like it," Alistair muttered as Adela rose and headed toward the door, draping the shall over her head and shoulders, Alistair directly behind her.

"I know, love, I know," she opened the door and marched out, heading to Eamon's sitting room where Roland, Niall and Oghren were to be waiting with Erlina. "I don't either. But, it's either this plan or no plan. And," she stopped, turning around so quickly that Alistair skidded to a halt as she poked him in his chest. "I am not about to leave Anora to further endure Howe's tender mercies."

"And we may need her help in the Landsmeet," Alistair muttered, echoing Eamon's words from earlier.

"If you want to look at it from a pragmatic view as espoused by our Arl Eamon, sure," she muttered as she spun on her heel. "But, I'm not. She's my friend; she's our queen. She's getting out."

DA:O

Alistair watched as Adela and the others left the townhouse, following closely behind the Orlesian elf. A heavy hand settled upon his shoulder and, startled, the young man turned to stare down into Arl Eamon's haggard features.

_He sure has aged_, the young man thought to himself, pity for the man who should have taken the role as his father flooding his head.

Smiling tiredly into Alistair's face, Eamon tugged on his shoulder, directing him back into the townhouse. "I know it is difficult to watch those you care for walk into danger, while you are left behind," the nobleman was saying as he continued to guide the warden indoors. "But, such is the life of those who safeguard others."

Huffing out a sigh, Alistair nodded. "I don't like her going off without me to protect her."

Nodding, Eamon directed the other man into a small study to the side of the hall, moving with tired grace to the sidebar. "And such is but one of the burdens shouldered by men who love strong women."

Picking up a decanter of brandy, he waved it to the other man, who raised a hand and shook his head. With a slight shrug, Eamon poured himself a finger, and swirled the thick, amber liquid. "Roland seems quite capable of watching over her," he said over his glass before taking a sip, his gray eyes carefully scrutinizing Alistair's reaction.

Alistair cringed slightly, saying "Roland is a good man." And Eamon smiled as he sipped his drink with an agreeing nod

DA:O

Getting into the estate had been easier than the elven warden had thought it would be. A pair of guards at the front door were easily distracted by an inconsolable Erlina, declaring she had seen _something_ by the well. Adela had not missed the lecherous looks the pair had exchanged when trying to calm the pretty elf down, and felt a twinge of guilt allowing the servant to lead the armed guards away as she and her companions slipped in. She did not allow herself to worry overmuch for the other elf, however. Something about the woman's manner told the warden that Erlina was more than capable of handling a pair of lecherous humans. They waited mere minutes before the queen's servant returned, grumbling about how difficult it had been to give the men the slip.

Fortunately, Oghren had kept his mouth shut during the elven servant's tirade. Adela did not want to hear anything associated with 'slip'.

Adela had expected to feel, at the very least, apprehension at being back within the estate. Here, she had lost friends; here she had experienced an assault upon her that had changed her; and it was here that Nelaros, the man she was to have married, came and died trying to free and protect her. And while these thoughts and memories brought a great deal of sadness to her, she found that she had no difficulty walking the hallways, peeking into doors that were set ajar.

It was almost as though the occurrence of a year ago – an event that had set into motion her being conscripted into the Grey Wardens and now saw her once again revisiting the place – had happened to someone else.

For, under the sad weight of the memories, all she felt was a slight sense of dread as she recalled the blood-spattered walls and floors, carpets soaking the fluids, spreading the ichor; but more predominantly concern for Anora overrode any bad memories.

If she took the time to reflect, she may have thought she was over those events from so long ago. If she took the time to be honest with herself, she'd realize that she had merely been avoiding them.

"Here!" Erlina called eagerly, breaking the warden from her musings. With a glance to Roland, Adela stepped forward, rushing to the Orlesian elf's side as she stood before a door. Adela found herself wondering how the Orlesian knew that this was, indeed, the correct door.

"Careful," Niall warned as he joined the ground, his face drawn with concern and concentration, shifting his shoulders beneath the light leather of his armor. "The door is warded with magic."

"Great ruddy luck!" Oghren swore, kicking the doorstop, muttering on about sodding human lords and their sodding mages.

"Your Majesty?" Erlina called softly against the door, pushing her hip to it.

"Erlina?" Called a voice so very familiar – so very welcome – to Adela's ears.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the Orlesian replied, relief evident in her voice. "I have brought help."

There was a moment of silence before Anora replied. "Who have you brought, Erlina?" There was a hesitance in Anora's voice that Adela did not recognize. And she was certain there was a bit of fear there as well.

"Anora," Adela gently moved Erlina back as she took her position by the door. "It's me, Adela."

"Adela?" Anora's voice was breathless, and the doorknob shook and the door rattled as the queen tried, unsuccessfully, to open it. "Is it really you?"

Chuckling and nodding, Adela responded, "It is, Anora." The elf sighed her relief. "I am so glad that you are alright."

"Alright being relative," Came Anora's caustic response, to which Adela only chuckled more. "Do you have a means of opening this door?"

"The mage maintaining it has to be close by," Niall offered as he stepped closer to the door, examining it now with scholarly curiosity. "He, or she, must be somewhere in the estate."

Erlina was silent for a moment, frowning in thought. "I think I know who the mage is," she offered after a moment. Turning, she faced the Wardens. "And it is a 'he'."

Frowning at the other elf, Adela turned back to the door. "Anora, we believe that the mage maintaining the ward is still within the estate," she paused, letting it sink it before continuing. "We'll need to search him out and have him drop it. Will you be alright?"

There was a strained laugh before the queen answered, "Adela, I've been cooped up here for over a day. All alone, might I add. I believe I shall be well enough. Please…," there was a slight pause followed by a breathlessly offered word, "hurry."

Adela leaned on the door, her hand pressed against the solid wood. To know that her friend was so close, and still be unable to free her…sighing, she pushed herself straight.

"Erlina," Adela turned to the other elf. "You wait here. Try and remain unseen," she smirked as the other elf quirked a brow at her. "Well, do the best you can. We've no idea what resistance we'll be facing, and I think that you will probably be safer here than with us."

The other elf nodded a frown upon her pretty face. "You may find the Teyrn in his quarters," she gave a shrug as she glanced over at Adela, carefully avoiding looking into her blue eyes. "They are right down the hall." She pointed to her right, turning her head slightly as she did so.

Blue eyes bore into the Orlesian elf's head, searching the side of her face visible from her current position. "The living quarters are on the second level," the Denerim elf said after a moment, frowning heavily.

With a sigh and slight shrug, Erlina turned to look at the blonde elf. "Yes, they are. However," she paled slightly, her voice catching and softening slightly. "When the new Arl – Teyrn Howe – claimed the estate, he moved his quarters down the hall." She looked earnestly into Adela's face, wishing her to simply believe she had the knowledge, realize that time was of the essence and to not ask any further questions. "You will…see why when you get there."

Not liking that the elven servant seemed to have intimate knowledge of the arrangements within the Denerim estate, Adela opened her mouth to further question the woman. Her question died in her throat as Oghren nudged her in the side.

"Wish you was wearing some armor, lass," Oghren scowled, his eyes going to her boots. "An' carryin' something better'n those little pins you've gots there."

"Stop channeling Alistair," Adela muttered as she turned away from Erlina, raising a hand in warning to Roland who, she knew, was going to add his own voice to the topic. "Maybe we'll stumble upon some armor and weapons as we search out the mage. But," she frowned at the others. "I'd still like to maintain the illusion that we're supposed to be here. At least for as long as possible."

"Gotcha, lass," Oghren nodded, jabbing Roland in the side before the knight could protest further. Niall merely nodded, waiting as the elf gave her final assurances to the queen before leading them down the hallway.

DA:O

She recognized the room that Howe had claimed as his own. It was, of course, differently furnished than it had been when last she had seen the accursed place, but she recognized it, nonetheless.

The room she had found Shianni and the others in, beaten and assaulted. Then, it had couches and settees, wall hangings and rugs before the massive fireplace. Where Shianni…

She viciously shook her head, turning away from the fireplace, looking at the sitting room that had been transformed into a bedchamber. Couches and settees remained, but now a massive, four poster bed dominated the far corner of the room.

Right by an iron bound door.

Frowning, the elven rogue stepped to the door, turning the knob to find it locked. With a twitch of an eyebrow, she crouched down, her sharp eyes and skillful fingers searching the mechanism first for traps and then for the tumblers. Soon, the door clicked open, revealing a set of stairs leading down.

Down into the cellars.

As she had been working on the door, Oghren and Roland searched the room. There were many feminine articles mixed among the masculine items – an ivory hairbrush and matching hand mirror, a bottle of fine Orlesian perfume - however it was obvious that this room was not used regularly. The sole wardrobe contained items of clothing, but all of which were sleeping apparel – both male and female.

"Down into the dank," Niall said quietly, his brown eyes scanning the length of the stairs visible in the dim light before vanishing into the darkness.

"Sounds like fun," Adela muttered, turning to the others and motioning them forward.

DA:O

The former prisoner stood, adjusting his stolen armor as he faced the group. Even her dulled senses could pick up on the taint – heavy, black and foreboding – within the man. He was a Grey Warden, and had been one for many years.

Dark brown eyes lifted, a smile crossing his rugged face. "Thank you for the distraction," he said in a voice marked by an Orlesian accent. "I have been awaiting the opportunity to do that for some time."

"How long have you been a prisoner, brother?" Adela asked, glancing down at the guard, his head askance at an odd angle, evident of a broken neck.

The Grey Warden merely shrugged his shoulders, a questioning look upon his face as he looked at Adela, "After a while, time rather melted away. Days? Weeks? Certainly not months."

There was an almost rambling quality to the Grey Warden's speech, and Adela smiled gently up at the tall human. Seeming to catch himself, the Orlesian Grey Warden shook his head, the ragged ends of his long, dark hair skimming along his shoulders. "Sorry. It has been far too long since I have spoken and someone has answered, I could well ramble away." Smiling pleasantly, he bowed deeply at the waist, one hand in front, the other to his back. "I am Riordan. Grey Warden of Jader."

Smiling back, Adela introduced herself and the others, and Riordan's eyes went to each as she introduced them. Niall stepped from the back, casting healing and rejuvenating spells upon the Grey Warden as Adela introduced him. With an appreciative expression, Riordan turned back to the elf, and asked, "So, you are Adela Tabris," Adela nodded. "I received a missive from Duncan about you. He seemed rather pleased to have initiated you into our ranks. I see his pride was well founded." He stepped closer, staring into the young elf's face. There was confusion, and Adela was certain she knew the source. However, he chose not to question her at this time, and she was grateful. Later, she knew, he would ask. For now, they had other matters to attend.

Adela shifted under his intense scrutiny. Behind her Niall chuckled a little. Catching herself, she thrust into Riordan's hands the papers they had found in one of the chests from the upstairs chamber. "We found these upstairs," she gestured to the packet as Riordan worked the ties. "Grey Warden code. I haven't had the chance to decipher them yet."

Riordan nodded as he worked the ties, opening the packet for a moment before nodding once more and retying the packet. He handed these back to Adela. "These were taken from me by Howe when I was captured." There as a bit of embarrassment to his heavy voice. "I had found these at Ostagar."

Frowning at that, Adela glanced back at the packet in his large hands. "I thought we had retrieved all of Duncan's documents?" she whispered, her mind going back to the chest at the decimated Grey Warden camp, contaminated with the taint of the darkspawn, diseased and dead.

"So…that was your handiwork?" Adela raised her head to dark, admiring eyes. "Nicely done. Anyone who can get passed a lock and trap set by Duncan is certainly worthy of praise." He chuckled at the deepening flush upon the pretty elf's face at such praise. "These, however, were not found at the Grey Warden compound, but upon the body of an emissary I dispatched while I was at Ostagar." His dark eyes rested upon the documents. "These are mostly a roll call of the wardens present at Ostagar, as well as a personal note or two..."

"How many Grey Wardens will be coming to aid us?" Roland cut in from behind Adela, almost certain the Grey Warden would begin rambling again.

Riordan's frown answered that question, but he replied anyway, "None."

"But, we've a Blight to face…" Adela began, anxiety rising up, threatening to close off her throat. "Why would they send you…"

"They did not send me," Riordan offered. "As a matter of fact, I…took leave without permission. Defying an order to leave Ferelden to its fate and prepare the other nations of Thedas for the possibility of a spreading Blight." He scowled slightly, the movement of features causing deeper furrows in his cheeks. "The Chapter in Orlais has enlisted the Chevaliers and has begun maneuvers to protect the borders."

The Fereldans stood stock still, disbelief upon their faces. The flush that had been upon Adela's cheeks vanished, replaced by a pallor of fear. "They…" she said very softly, her voice failing her.

"I could not stand by and allow that to happen," Riordan took an anxious step forward, gazing down at the small woman. "I was born in Ferelden. I lived _here_ as a child." He motioned around him, clearly indicating the city of Denerim and not the stone walls that had quartered him these long weeks. "We are Grey Wardens. Sworn to defeat against Blights, to protect others against the taint. To allow it to sweep across a nation…" he shook his head, turning to pace to the guard's body. "It went against everything I had learned and fought for during my twenty years as a Warden."

Looking down at the man he killed, Riordan suddenly bent down, picking up the fallen man's dagger and hand axe. Rising, he turned to face the others. "What is your purpose here, if you did not know of my presence?"

Quickly, Adela explained about the need to free the queen. Silently, the senior grey warden listened, nodding his head, interjecting with a question or comment, but overall allowing the elf to explain. Once Adela had finished, he nodded his head, bringing a large hand to rub along his square jaw.

"A wise plan," he praised. Glancing at the door that led upwards he then turned, pointing to another door across the corridor. "That leads deeper into the dungeons. I recall earlier today a group of men passing this way. I did not get a good look, however, I did see Howe," Roland's face darkened at the mention of the man's name, "and at least one mage. Several guards, as well." He turned back to Adela and the others. "If you wish, I shall assist you in getting to Howe and the mage, and then we can work on freeing the queen."

DA:O

Despite weeks of imprisonment, Riordan proved to be a skilled warrior. The legendary Grey Warden stamina proved itself yet again as Adela and the others made their bloody way through the subterranean corridors of the deep dungeons of the Denerim estates. It seemed to the group that they had to fight for each step they took, navigating the twisting ways beneath the main bulk of the massive estate that was the home of the Arl of Denerim. Adela cringed with each kill, knowing full well that many of those who served the current Arl were not evil, but merely doing their job, seeing to their duty.

Which many believed was protecting the lawful Arl of Denerim.

Others, however, seemed to take a great pleasure in antagonizing and flinging themselves into battle against the group. Adela had managed to procure a short bow from a fallen guard and stood away from the group, firing deadly missiles at their foes. Raising the bow, she sighted down and shot dead a fleeing guard.

They could not afford mercy at this juncture. Any who wore the livery of Howe or the Arl of Denerim were considered enemies and were to be treated as such.

A shudder passed through Adela as she stepped around the still body of the young man who had tried to flee, her arrow sticking from the back of his neck, his life's blood seeping onto the cold, stone floor. She did not feel remorse for taking his life, and that bothered her greatly. With a sigh, she looked up to find Roland, who had paused to wait for her. Waving him ahead, she followed.

She hoped that, once this business with the Blight was over, she would be able to find herself once more.

DA:O

They had discovered many prisoners, tucked away in torture chambers or cells so far removed from the main corridors that meandered beneath the estate that it was obvious they were meant to never be found. However, Adela and her group were searching, digging into every corner, opening every door. Bodies lined the hallways, scattered upon the floors of the dungeons. Bodies of Howe's men and those innocents taken by Howe for political and personal reasons.

One such prisoner, a young nobleman by the name of Oswyn, who introduced himself as the son of Bann Sighard of the Dragon's Peak bannorn, stumbled from the rack he had been chained to once Adela had worked the rusted lock open. Roland stepped forward to steady the young man. He told a tale of how a friend of his had been a soldier at Ostagar, and related of how Loghain had ordered soldiers from the field before being overrun by darkspawn, thereby abandoning the king, the Grey Wardens and the battlefield ready soldiers to death at the hands of the darkspawn.

"Eirick vanished shortly afterwards," Oswyn said, gratefully accepting the cloak Roland handed him while Oghren searched the bodies of the guards for clothing or armor that would fit the starved young man. "I went searching for him," the youth shrugged, grimacing as he accepted a tunic and breeches Oghren handed him, trying to ignore the blood stains upon the fabric. "I was an idiot, accepting a drink from a stranger." He shrugged the clothing on. "He said he had information; idiot that I am believed him."

"When yer desp'rate 'nough," Oghren said in an understandingly gruff manner, "ya'll believe anythin' that may point cha in the right direction."

Nodding, Oswyn replied, "Indeed, Ser Dwarf," he offered a small smile as he tugged on a pair of well worn boots. ""When I awoke, I found myself here, at Howe's tender mercies."

"Did Howe do this to you?" Adela asked quietly, pointing to the ruin that was his knee as Niall bent to offer healing to the garish injury.

Wincing slightly, Oswyn nodded. "Howe seems to like a more…" he grimaced in memory of the injuries and indignities he suffered at Howe's hands, "hands on approach to gathering his information." His smile was brittle yet grateful as the mage straightened. "Not that I had anything worthy of the telling."

Nodding, Adela glanced about the chamber, obvious by the many stark stains and torture devices to be the scene of many such tortures of others. "You should get out," she turned her attention back to the young man. "The way behind us is clear. Get to your father and tell him what has happened."

"I most certainly will," Oswyn assured them as he limped toward the exit. "And, if a Landsmeet is called, I am certain my father will offer support to the Grey Wardens."

"Our thanks," Adela remarked as the young man turned the corner, disappearing from their sight.

Staring at the doorway, Oghren muttered, "Nasty piece o'work that Howe." He looked over into Adela's face. "Could give the Carta a run fer their coin, I'd say."

Nodding, Adela dryly remarked, "You have no idea," and turned to lead her group from the offending chamber, continuing their search for Howe and his mage.


	65. Chapter 65

_My thanks to everyone who continues to follow this story. I know it's been a long time to get here, but I hope it's been worth it. We are in Denerim, and soon will see the Landsmeet._

_Just not yet…this chapter was supposed to be shorter, but it just kept calling me, wanting more. _

_My thanks, as always, to those who read, lurk, alert, and review: Wyl, Arsinoe de Blassenville, cloud1004, Shakespira, mutive!_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 65_

Yellow eyes narrowed, watching through the thick pane of glass as the gray haired noble placed a hand that was meant to be comforting upon the younger man's shoulder. Morrigan snorted indelicately as Arl Eamon then steered Alistair back into the townhouse as Adela's and her companions' forms drifted into the haze of the morning fog.

The swamp witch did not trust the intentions of the Arl. Based upon conversations held and conversations observed, those within their motley group shared her opinion. To them, his intentions were all too clear – he wanted Alistair to assume the throne: Despite the young Warden's objections; despite his being married to the elven Commander; despite the fact that Ferelden had a ruler. Still the older man persisted. If for nothing else, Morrigan had to give him credit for that – he was persistent and persuasive. In almost any other situation, the witch would have most likely sat back and watched the drama, admiring the man's tenacity.

However, there was the underlying malevolence that traveled alongside the Arl as an old friend, tainting everything and everyone it kept in contact with. Morrigan was certain this was the cause for Alistair's erratic behavior and the occasional ill temperament within their group as a whole. How Alistair had treated Adela had been nothing short of reprehensible and, Morrigan admitted, completely out of character. Everyone knew that Alistair adored – practically worshipped – his wife.. Yet, despite that thought, despite the elven Warden's forgiveness of her husband, Morrigan herself had neither the heart nor compassion to let it go as easily.

It was, after all, Alistair's own weakness that caused the conflict, not any imaginary tryst between Adela and Roland.

At that thought, the witch paused in her pacing, a huffed chuckle escaping her throat. When first she had met the young elf, she had found her naïve, weak. Now, after a year in her company, Morrigan had nothing but profound respect for the young elf; respect for her strength, her willpower, even her compassion. Morrigan faltered slightly. From who had she learned the appreciation of another's compassion? Certainly, from the elf herself. She and Morrigan had become close, friends. Morrigan would be proud to call her 'sister'; she felt a deep kinship with the elf, despite how very different the two women were.

She ceased her pacing of the opulent chambers and turned, staring at the door to the adjoining room. The room where Leliana currently sat, pouring over her notes, comparing them with the elven assassin's.

Ah, and there sat the other source.

Leliana had arrived shortly before Adela and the others had left for the Arl's estates, with confusing reports regarding the Warden sympathizers that she needed time to go over and further investigate. She planned later to take both Zevran and Anders with her as she sought out the supposed hideout for these renegades.

With a shake of her raven head, the witch left the rooms she shared with Leliana, determining to assault the library once more. At Fergus' insistence, of course.

A mere year ago…how much things – _herself_ - have changed. Flemeth had persuaded the elf to take Morrigan, speaking of how much her magic would help them. If only Adela knew exactly what those words had meant, she may not have accepted Morrigan within the group.

Morrigan was not so vain as to be unable to acknowledge to herself that, had Adela refused her company, the little elven woman would have still managed to have gotten to where they were now. Any of the other mages within her group could do most of what Morrigan was capable, short of the shape shifting.

A tiny grin crossed the lovely witch's face as she passed by Leliana's door, pausing briefly to listen to the softly lilting voice as she and Zevran discussed strategy. The Orlesian on the other side of the door was another source of confusion for the witch.

But it was a confusion she found herself quite pleased to remain within. Even if all the two women would ever be would be friends, sharing a space with one another, Morrigan was quite content with that.

Another reason she was pleased Adela had accepted her assistance back in the clearing of her mother's hut.

Mother. Morrigan paused at the library's door, frowning. Whether Mother of her body or simply of name, Flemeth was one the young woman had learned long ago to fear. When Alistair and Adela had decided to kill Flemeth, Morrigan had been beside herself with fear, relief and more confusion. It was that act – that act that could have caused death and destruction to the then tiny group – that made the fact be known: Morrigan was one of them, and they would fight to protect their own.

She opened the door and stepped in, wandering the shelves, searching the titles of the tomes thereupon, her thoughts still elsewhere but the fast approaching Landsmeet.

The witch was pleased that there were others who were Wardens now among the group. Others than Alistair who could perform the task that Flemeth had set her upon a year prior.

Morrigan did not doubt that Flemeth still lived. Of that, there could be no doubt. The old witch – whether the actual legend or merely a powerful mage who had the strength of will and magic to take the name of a myth that chilled the hearts of even the stoutest of men – was too crafty not to have contingencies in place.

But it was not fear of retribution that caused the witch to carry on with her original intent. It was the fear of losing any of those she had foolishly allowed herself to come so close to. Certainly, there was death in battle, but the knowledge she possessed…she shuddered slightly, ceasing the line of thought, but she could not quell the quilt that rose up. The apostate had information – knowledge – that Adela and the others did not. Yet she kept quiet about that knowledge, and had no excuse for her silence.

She did not even try to qualify it to herself.

DA:O

They left more dead behind than living. Blood washed the floors, splattered against the stone walls, discolored the wooden supports and iron bound doors with ugly, splotchy red stains that quickly darkened to vile black.

And yet, there seemed almost no end to those who threw themselves into the fray, some trying to escape (and these were felled by arrow or spell), but most determined to shed the blood of the invaders into their torturous domain.

The companions were awash in blood, much their own, most of those that fell to their skill. Niall was pale; exhausted by the numerous healing and rejuvenating spells he had cast during their relatively short time beneath the estates. Yet he stubbornly continued on, casting spells of healing and harm whenever necessary, his brown eyes going often to the small elf that led the group, her servant's dress plastered to her body with blood and sweat.

Stealing a moment's respite, the group paused, surveying their surroundings, applying healing as required. Riordan leaned against a stone wall, the mage tending to a tear along his forearm, his borrowed armor long since reduced to leathern rags. The senior Grey Warden, whether borne of his own ability or a desire not to prove a burden to the younger wardens, continued on, despite his many wounds.

A look to his companions proved he was no worse for wear as they.

The red haired Warden – Roland, if he recalled correctly – was wrapping a bandage about the elf's arm, frowning down at her with an expression the denoted personal care rather than professional loyalty. Based upon the young man's actions, Riordan would almost presume the pair to be lovers. However, the look the elf gave the man, one filled with friendship, tired humor and respect, told the elder Warden that the feelings were entirely one sided. He shook his head, recalling his own infatuations of his youth.

The elven Warden was a mystery to the Warden from Jader. Only with intense concentration could he sense the taint within the young elf. Barely present. Yet, the other Wardens – whose own taint was strong – deferred to the young elf, proclaiming her their leader. And, by Duncan's own hand, he knew that the former Commander had named her as a potential replacement.

So he sent his senses deeper, clamping onto that near promise of a taint within the woman. So faint, but present. He would certainly make a point of learning more once they escaped this man made hell hole.

DA:O

The frantic fighting, accentuated with screams of the dying, echoed through the halls. In the chambers where Rendon Howe and a few of his men stood, it was difficult to discern from where the clamor of battle came.

Calmly, the Teyrn turned to the young woman beside him, a hand reaching out to brush aside the chestnut locks that fell into her eyes. Frowning, Elissa raised a hand to his, shaking her head as a young guard burst into the chamber, his eyes wild with fear as they settled upon his Teyrn, the words of protest dying upon her lips.

"Your Grace!" he cried, stumbling forward. "The Wardens are making their way here!"

"Calmly, soldier," the Teyrn's oily voice softened, easing some of the young soldier's concerns. "We shall meet their might with our own. Now, tell me, how many are there?"

Nodding, trying vainly to calm himself, the young man spoke in a shaking voice, "There are five – including that spy you had caught and imprisoned," Howe nodded, indicating for the young soldier to continue. "There're at least two warriors, and an elven archer," Elissa snorted indelicately at that, and Howe quirked a brow at his lover. "They've a mage with them."

Chuckling, Howe nodded. "Then it is a good thing," he smirked, waving a hand to the young, dark haired mage who slouched to the side, his eyes closed, face crinkled in concentration, "that we have our own mage."

"I must maintain most of my concentration on the field, Your Grace,' Jowan remarked in a quiet voice from his position behind the Teyrn, flinching slightly at the quiver in his voice.

"If it comes down to defending yourself or keeping the field up, my dear mage," Howe retorted softly, "I would expect defense to be the first of your priorities."

Opening his soft, brown eyes, Jowan nodded with a frown. "Of course, my Lord," he said in that quiet, shaking voice before once more closing his eyes.

Howe waved the young soldier away, turning his attention back to his young lover. "As for you, my dear," he brushed his hand down her cheek, his sharp features softening somewhat. "You are to get out of here and hide away."

"The Void I will," Elissa replied vehemently, scowling at her lover as she took his seeking hand in her own, stopping its trek down her shoulder. "My place is with you."

"I would rather you were out of harm's way, my love."

"Damn harm's way, Rendon. I was there at the massacre at the Castle; my safety was never in question there. I'll fight by your side if need be."

Taking a deep sigh, Howe stepped back, gazing at his stubborn lover. Determination gilded her eyes, and there was that stubborn tilt of her chin that told the man that he would win no arguments with her. Not in this case. Sighing, he bent forward, brushing his lips gently against hers. "That is my Little Spitfire," he sighed, speaking the nickname he had given her so long ago, when she had been little more than a child, wielding her blades against fully trained male warriors. "What did I do to deserve such a woman as yourself?"

Smirking, the young noblewoman smiled as Howe grasped her upper arms, squeezing her tightly before releasing her to turn to the opening door. As he readied his weapons, he heard Elissa step back, saying. "Won me a Teynir."

DA:O

Oghren shoved his shoulder against the taller human, his massive war axe swung to the side as he barreled into Howe's man. The spikes upon the shoulder guards of his heavy dwarven made armor pierced the tough leather of Howe's man, digging deeply through to the soft human flesh, muscle, slicing between rib bones as it pierced into the heart hidden beneath. With a great war cry, the dwarven berserker swung his shoulder, sending the dying man hurtling through the heavy wood door, shattering every bone in his foe's body as it flew through the door, crashing into the warriors who stood in wait behind.

With an ear shattering war cry, the dwarven warrior burst into the room, axe swinging as it hooked into the ribcage of the sole warrior standing, stunned by the dwarf's violence. Blood spurted riotously from the soldier as Oghren lifted his weapon, holding the man aloft for a brief moment, and then spun, swinging his axe out and wide, releasing the torn body to crash into the guardsmen rushing toward him.

Mouth wide in a bloody grin, Oghren rushed into the fray, seeking out all foes.

DA:O

The dwarf's violence never ceased to amaze the elf. The devastation left behind by her red bearded berserker was akin to monumental. Roland and Riordan rushed by, their weapons aloft as they entered the room to engage the many warriors and rogues that managed to escape the devastation that was a dwarven berserker from Orzammar. She noticed as Roland paused, his gaze shifting to the back, where stood the nobleman, surrounded by his soldiers – men paid for their loyalty with heavy coin.

Behind her loomed Niall's steadying presence as both surveyed the room. Howe stood further to the back, amazement upon his craggy features as he took in the damage caused by one sole warrior. A feminine form stood behind him, and she guessed it was that woman who owned the feminine belongings in the chamber above.

Then she felt it; dark and foreboding. Her own connection to the Fade allowed her to feel when magic was being used, and she could feel the dark power of blood magic within. Niall shifted and, without a word and the barest of nods, the warden mage pushed by the elf, his dark eyes seeking around the corner, spying the dark haired mage who stood in a far back corner, eyes closed in concentration, but power emanating from him none the less. With a scowl, Niall rushed forward, weaving around the battling warriors, ensorcing himself with protective shielding, making his way to the blood mage who, having spied the approaching mage, spun about and fled the main chamber, seeking secusion in the chambers beyond.

Certain Niall would deal with the blood mage, Adela turned to the massacre in front of her. Her arrows could well prove as devastating to her companions as against her foes, and so she stood, bow held in hand, arrow ready for flight, as she scanned the mass of bodies, ready to send her missile to air should a foe presented himself.

Then Howe shifted in the back, and Adela caught sight of the woman behind him.

DA:O

"Jowan."

The blood mage turned around and opened his eyes, focusing upon the older mage who stood before him. A frown formed on the younger mage's morose features.

"Niall."

The pair scrutinized one another, as the battle raged in the larger chamber behind them. Gossamer tendrils flickered about the Warden mage's form as one of Howe's men who had followed the enemy mage tried an assault from behind. A grim smile crossed the elder mage's face as he turned slightly, gout of fire bursting from his fingertips. The flames engulfed the screaming man, and he flopped to the floor, rolling in vain to extinguish the magically conjured fire. Minutes passed as the man died, the pair of mages once again studying one another.

"Why, Jowan?" Niall asked as he turned his focus once more upon the young man he had known at the tower. "Blood magic?"

Scoffing, Jowan shook his head. "You have no idea what it's like, Niall," there was venom in the younger man's voice, and Niall flinched slightly. He had always taken on a role of mentor to the younger mages, Jowan included. He had thought them friends, even after he had learned what Jowan had done back at Redcliffe. Seeing him now, so calm, no apology for his use of blood magic…it seemed as though perhaps Niall had never known the man.

"Blood magic?" Niall repeated. "What has it gotten you?"

"Free," was Jowan's prompt response, a slender hand resting upon the dagger at his hip. "I have freedom, Niall."

"Tied to Howe?" Niall shook his head, glancing over to where the nobleman stood, watching as his soldiers were decimated by the Wardens wading through their ranks. Turning back to Jowan, he shook his head again. "Of all…"

"Not Howe," Jowan spat out, scowling over where the nobleman readied himself for battle. His features softened slightly as he turned his attention back to Niall. "Amell."

Confusion lined Niall's face. "Amell?" he asked, frowning. "Amell was killed…"

"No, he was not," Jowan trumpeted. "He killed those damned Templars as they stalked him. He grew in power, and I have grown as well!"

Taking a deep breath, Niall took a step closer to Jowan, mindful of the dagger at the blood mage's belt, relieved he had not drawn the weapon as of yet. "Amell has always been a manipulative bastard," Niall spat. "And he's, yet again, managed to manipulate you!"

"I don't care," Jowan admitted, taking a step back to reestablish the barrier between the two mages. "I'm with him, and he sees my uses to him and his cause."

"Cause?" Niall stopped, shaking his head at the naiveté of his fellow mage. "Amell's _cause_ has ever only been his own!" He glanced over to Howe, a furrow forming between his dark brow. "How is _this_ his cause?"

But a sly smile crossed Jowan's face as he tapped his tapered fingers along the top of the dagger's hilt. "It is all his," was the only answer Jowan would allow the other to know. "So, you travel with the Wardens now, do you?" the blood mage smoothly changed the subject, eyes narrowing as he took the minutest of steps back, fingers closing around his dagger. "Tagging along as they save the world?"

Niall returned Jowan's sly smile with a prideful one of his own. "Not travel with as a tagalong," he grinned wider at Jowan's confusion, taking note of his hand upon the dagger, his own hand tightening about his spear-like staff. "But as a Warden."

"_You_?" Jowan scoffed, "A _warden_?" He chuckled, his dark head shaking. "That's about as likely as _me_ becoming a Warden."

"Stranger things have happened," Niall admitted, a hollow feeling forming in the pit of his stomach as his mind played out how this encounter would end. "How is this all Amell's cause?" he insisted, watching carefully as Jowan's brown eyes flickered at the mention of Amell's name.

A tender look crossed the blood mage's face, and Niall found himself, yet again, cursing Arawn Amell's name. Jowan's devotion to the foreign mage had crossed the line of harmless infatuation to fanatical devotion. When Amell had escaped the Circle tower, and word filtered back that the Templars had killed the handsome, talented, and completely uncontrollable mage, Jowan had fallen into a deep depression. To Niall's knowledge, the pair had never been lovers; he doubted Amell swung that way. However, the arrogant mage from Navarra had used Jowan's low self-esteem and insecurity against him many times, bringing the younger mage to his side with slavish devotion.

"He saved me, Niall," Jowan replied instead, dragging the Warden from his thoughts. "I was to be made Tranquil," Jowan's voice shuddered, and Niall felt that familiar, sick feeling wash over him at the thought of a mage being mage Tranquil. Jowan's soft eyes searched Niall's lined faced, seeing the sorrow there. "You, of all people, should understand how much that thought terrified me."

"Terrifies us all," Niall found himself gently reminding his former student. He swallowed passed the tightness in his throat, his mind going back to Owain, tending the Circle's stores, the flash of a smile a mere memory Niall strove to place upon the Tranquil's impassive features those few times he forced himself to deal with his former lover.

_Yes, he understood the fear. He knew how unfair_…"What does that have to Amell's plans?" he forced himself back to the present, thoughts away from the past, a past decades dead.

"Amell arranged my escape." Had Jowan even heard his question?

"That was Surana," Niall reminded the other mage, scowling as he recalled how Artemis had tried to help his friend escape the Circle, believing fully that Jowan merely wished to escape with his lady love, and would never even consider blood magic. A pang rose in Niall's breast at the thought of his brave, dear, dead friend.

"Amell gave me the idea," Jowan clarified, his stance shifting slightly as he continued speaking with his once-teacher.

"Artemis is dead, you know," Niall responded, realizing Jowan would only ramble on about Amell. He doubted he would ever get any answer from the beguiled mage. "Died a Warden."

"Artemis…" Jowan's head hung down for a moment as the pair continued to ignore the battle around them, each taking a step, circling the other as they unconsciously made their way back toward the fray. Niall sent a tendril of his consciousness outwards to his fellow Wardens, sending tendrils of healing magic out to the warriors. If Jowan noticed, the blood mage gave no indication.

"Release the queen," Niall ordered his voice strong and commanding, so different from his time at the Circle. Jowan's head snapped up at the change of tone, eyes narrowing as he began to pull the dagger free of its sheath.

"No," he answered back, scowling at the elder mage. "The days when you – or anyone – from that damnable Circle ordered me about are over!" his voice grew in volume and strength as he brandished the dagger.

"Drop the dagger," Niall stepped back, pulling his mana in.

Shaking his head, Jowan began to bring the dagger to his arm, certain Niall was preparing a spell. A startled gasp erupted from his throat, his eyes stared down as Niall drove his spear-staff deeper into the blood mage's chest. Gurgling sighs rose from his throat, and Jowan raised stunned eyes to the Warden mage's face.

He saw there deep regret and sorrow, the final sight as he slid free of the other mage's weapon, darkness enveloping his sight and senses as he fell to the floor.

Gasping, pushing down the bile that rose in his throat, for Niall had never thought he would end up killing one who had once been a friend, a student, the former Circle mage turned, sending out a burst of healing and rejuvenating magic over his fellows before shouting out.

"The barrier has been dropped!"

DA:O

"The barrier has dropped, Your Majesty!" Erlina exclaimed as she twisted the knob, scowling to find it locked. _Warded and locked_! But Howe certainly did not trust even his pet mage.

Anora tried the door on her side, and Erlina chocked back a giggle at the sound of the prim and proper Queen letting loose with a stream of curses that would scald the ears of the most veteran of soldiers.

Sobering, Erlina frowned at the thought that the downed barrier could only mean one thing. Her head bowed momentarily, recalling Jowan with small affection. The poor man had been so desperate to belong – most especially, to belong to Arawn. That the barrier was dropped could only mean the poor mage had perished.

She truly could not see the Wardens letting a known blood mage – one who had wreaked havoc at Redcliffe against the Arl and yet again against the Queen herself – live. With a bow of her dark head, she offered a quick prayer to the Maker – one of the few the Orlesian borne elf would ever do – for Jowan's soul, and then turned her attention to the lock.

DA:O

"The barrier has been dropped!"

The cry echoed throughout the chamber, managing to overcome the sounds of battle, the clashing and clanging of weapon to weapon, and rise to the ears of the Wardens.

Adela's head snapped over to watch as Niall started pushing his way to her side, gouts of fire and ice springing from his fingertips, felling many of those soldiers that crowded the room, determined to bring death to the Wardens and protect their liege lord.

_And his lady._

Blue eyes settled upon the huddled form of Lady Elissa Cousland. Dark eyes returned the gaze, and the lady in question straightened, haughty hatred etched upon her fine features.

Adela watched as, after a word to Howe, Elissa slipped into the shadows, disappearing from sight. A frown formed upon the elf's face as she brought her bow up to bear, searching the shadows for the noble rogue, scowling at her inability to pinpoint the location of the human.

Niall spun about, magic flaring from outstretched fingertips, fire gusting forward to envelope the threatening Howe soldier. The rank odor of burning flesh rose to the mage's nose and his face scrunched up involuntarily as he blinked away tears from the stench. Scowling, he raised his staff, foregoing approaching his Commander to engage with the remaining soldiers that continued to threaten them.

Screams of pain, of the injured and the dying cycled about the chamber. The iron smell of blood tainted the air, and the air itself was a haze of dampness – heat from the battling bodies, escaping heat from the dying, the moisture from blood and other bodily fluids spilled…the elf blinked, clearing her vision, bringing her bow up and releasing an arrow into the back of one soldier bringing his weapon to bear against an otherwise occupied Roland. The Warden warrior turned briefly, to acknowledge his thanks after he felled his own opponent, but that expression of gratitude turned to fear as he cried out for Adela.

_Pain_. It erupted into her side in a torrent of agony, and she turned into the grinning face of Elissa Cousland, her dagger deeply embedded into Adela's side as she gave the blade a vicious twist. Shrieking, the bow dropped from the elven archer's hands, clattering to the floor as the elf tried to escape the punishing abuse of the blade. Elissa shadowed the elf's movements, driving the blade deeper, piercing through the soft flesh, digging furrows deeply within her body. Raising one small fist, the elf punched out, catching the noblewoman in the jaw, allowing herself to twist away from the punishing blade as Elissa stumbled from the blow. It is not a powerful punch, but enough to force the two women apart.

Clutching her side, blood pouring from the wound, Adela pulled one of her small daggers from its boot sheath, and she truly realized how pitiful a weapon the thing was.

It was then, as the Cousland noble turned – and Adela had to remind herself that this woman was Fergus' sister, although at that moment there was no resemblance between the personable man and that demon of a woman – that Roland was there, his shield up before the elf, deflecting the powerful thrust of Elissa's short sword.

Stunned, the noble stumbled back, dagger and short sword in hand. "So," she crooned, dark humor tingeing her voice as she looked her former knight over. "I had wondered if you would be warming the knife-ear's bed. Question answered."

"Why?" was the only word Roland could cogently form, ignoring completely the innuendo in the noblewoman's voice as confusion at seeing Elissa by Howe's side in this dank, bloody dungeon, overtook him as he planted himself firmly between the injured Adela and vengeful Elissa.

A dark brow quirked in humor, a slight twist of her full lips. "Why?" She repeated. There was a negligent shrug of her lithe shoulders as she answered.

"Why not?"

"You…you are aligned with this…murderer?" Roland found his voice, his body pivoting to keep this dangerous woman from Adela, who had stumbled back, fumbling in one of the deep pockets of her servant's dress for a healing poultice.

"Aligned?" Elissa laughed callously. "Allied? We are partners," her gaze swept to where Howe now battled a tiring dwarven warrior. Turning her gaze back to Roland, he was horrified to see the love and devotion reflected there, before being replaced with ire and indignity. "in every sense of the word," she almost purred this last out. With that careless shrug that Roland recognized being habit over the years, she added, "It was my idea, after all."

"_Your_…"

Nodding, she smirked. "The Teyrnir is now mine and Rendon's. And, with the disposal of you and your…" she waved a hand toward Adela, who leaned painfully against a wall, pressing a poultice to her injury. "pet knife-ear, all of Ferelden shall be ours."

"Traitorous _bitch_!" Roland shouted as he plunged forward, shield up, sword swinging as he took a mindless sweep at the noble.

Chuckling, the rogue easily sidestepped his rush, twisting away from the deadly blade as she danced back. "Come now, Roland," she chided, sweeping forward with both blades, sending the warrior stepping back. "Haven't you heard? The Couslands were conspiring with Orlais. It was only my duty to see to it that their treachery be exposed!"

Roland could not believe his ears as the venomous words continued to spew from her mouth. He and Elissa continued to side step each other, dancing around, seeking the most efficient position to face off against one another, blade and shield blocking the others blows. They had sparred with one another often, Teyrn Bryce's desire that his daughter be able to protect herself great. They knew how the other fought, and even this early in their battle, he knew that it was possible they would continue to fight each other to a standstill.

Until one or the other's ally came to their assistances.

"The Couslands would never conspire against Ferelden!" Roland hissed out between his teeth, footing backward and twisting at the waist, his sword jabbing out, nicking Elissa's dagger hand. Wincing, she withdrew, scowling at the man who had served her family for years. "Have you forgotten that you are a Cousland?"

"Soon to be a Howe," she commented wryly, with a graceful shrug of her shoulders as she circled the enraged warrior. "Strange how easily many of the nobles would believe even the most ludicrous of lies, is it not?" she taunted, tilting her pretty head.

A wave of nausea and dizziness swept over the warrior as he contemplated the dead back at Castle Cousland. Nan…Teyrn Bryce…Teyrna Eleanor…Oriana…"Oren?" he found himself muttering aloud.

There was a falter to Elissa's step at the mention of her nephew, and she scowled at the knight. "Playing dirty, eh?" She stepped aside, frowning at the man as he raised his eyes to her. "All things come at a cost," she spat out, revealing at least a moment's pain at the selfish decision that took her family.

There was a slight whistling in the air, and then Elissa gasped, stumbling back a step or two as Adela's arrow embedded itself firmly in her chest. Wheezing, Elissa's blades fell to the floor as she grasped the arrow with both hands, grimacing in pain as she tried to pull the missile free of her chest. The sound of Roland's steps forward brought her head up, and she watched, horrified, as his blade swept forth, slicing between her breasts, cleaving downward and through her heart. Without a word, the noblewoman fell free of the blade, blood spouting from the wound as death enveloped her.

"Yes," the knight muttered as Adela carefully stepped to his side. Watching as the noble he once served fell into death, he reached his arm around Adela's shoulder, helping her to stand as he echoed Elissa's words back to her already cooling corpse.

"All things come at a cost."

DA:O

She fell.

The missile that stopped her, wounded her mortally, seemed suspended in midair, its flight toward his love slow – so agonizingly slow - in its trajectory toward her heart, shot from the knife-eared bitch's bow. He watched in disbelief as it embedded itself deeply within her chest, her stunned face moving down to stare with mirrored disbelief.

That the former knight of Highever had been the one to ultimately end her life had been more of a shock to the Teyrn.

Rage coursed through him, lending him strength that he normally would not possess. Outraged that his lover had been so cut down, Howe shoved against the lone guardsman that stood with him, causing him to stumble, impaling him into the dwarf's raised axe. Ignoring the scream of agony the burst from his soldier's throat, Howe skipped over the bodies of the fallen, his course set against the cursed Warden Knight.

His right hand clasped tightly about the handaxe he wielded, his thumb rubbing along its length as he slipped into the shadows, feeling the coolness caress his skin as he sought to put his rage in check. Elissa was dead. _No_! She could not be. All of his plans…everything he had done at Highever had been for her. She deserved nothing less than a Teynir! Perhaps the kingdom itself.

And yet he could not lie to himself as he neared, taking in the spill of her life's blood as it pooled beneath her still form, arms outstretched over head as she lay, crumpled, upon her stomach.

He turned his head, taking note that the fool knight had his back to him, his attention focused upon the pretty little elf. A nasty smirk crossed his face. Oh, he'd kill the knight…eventually. First, he would allow him life, long enough to witness and regret what Howe was going to do with the pretty little elven Warden.

There was a squish beneath his foot, and he frowned, his heart plummeting as he stared down as Elissa's blood seeped beneath his foot. Anguished, he stumbled back, his foot, now wet with blood, slipping.

It was all the warning Roland needed.

With a fluid motion, the knight rose, sword clasped in one hand as he twisted about, leading with his shield to block any unseen attack. Cursing, Howe launched himself forward, axe and short sword leading as he attacked the knight, seeking to bring him down with ferocious blows.

With a sweep of his shield, Roland brushed aside Howe's blades, following through with the motion to deliver a shoulder block that staggered the smaller man considerably. To the back of the chamber, Oghren's waraxe chopped through the remaining guards as Niall cast alternately between healing and his devastating primal spells. Roland was fully aware of Adela, still slumped behind him, her injury stable but still serious enough to keep her from the fray.

Out came Roland's sword, sweeping low to sneak beneath the Teyrn's blades, hoping for a strike to the groin or, at the very least, cut across his lower stomach. Showing agility and strength that belied his age and soft noble living, Howe deftly blocked the strong swipe, his feet dancing back, carrying the man back and away. He swung his axe upwards, thinking to deliver a cut downwards against the shield, perhaps stagger the larger man or cause him to drop his shield.

The former knight, however, was well aware of the tactic – one that Elissa herself had used numerous times when they had sparred. Now he knew where she had learned the sneaky tactic.

Howe kicked out; Roland tucked himself in, twisting away, bringing his shield outwards, low, and into his opponent's chest. Once more, Howe staggered back from the glancing blow, his face a harsh mask of anger, hatred and grief as he chopped out with his sword.

Roland had been as dedicated a knight as any who had preceded him. During his years at Highever, he had trained relentlessly, determined to earn respect as well as his knighthood through hard work and perseverance. His father had been so certain of his son's ability that he had squired him out to the Couslands at the young age of eleven. And he would not – could not - disappoint his family.

The months he had spent on the road, however, with the constant fighting – and not mere sparring, but nearly daily life and death struggles – had hardened his muscles as no amount of training could have. His time with others with vastly different fighting styles – other warriors, the rogues, even the mages – had taught the former knight other skills that many of his warrior class would not have learned.

There were few better knife fighters than Zevran and Leliana; few warriors with Alistair's dedication and skill; fewer still warriors with the strength and control of the Sten. He had sparred with each, fought beside them all. Had learned all the tricks his many varied companions could wield

Howe's fighting style was similar to the rogues – sneaky, quick, vastly relying upon the shadows and manipulating the weaknesses of opponents. Roland's eyes narrowed as the noble circled him, a knowing smirk upon his features, as though he knew something that the former knight may not.

The mayhem of battle around them had stopped, the silence as deafening as had been the screams of the wounded and dying. A vicious snarl twisted Howe's features as he realized just how alone he was in this battle; alone, save for the Wardens and their companions.

"So, what is it to be, _boy_?" he spat out at Roland, eyes darting about briefly, concern for where the other warriors and the mage were.

Left cheek twitching, Roland, stepped to the side, the other man turning to keep the Warden before him. He stopped, obviously concerned as he realized that should he turn any further, it would place the elven Warden at his back. Concern flickered across his features, replaced immediately with that snarl.

Adela glanced up, and beyond the Teyrn's shoulder. Her eyes met those of their mage, and Niall gave a nod at her unspoken order. Raising a hand, he chanted out the words of a spell, and they all watched as the form of the traitor noble stiffened, fear making its way upon his face, as he was trapped within the mage's paralyzing spell.

"Nicely done, Niall," Adela croaked out as she once more slumped against the wall. Certain the noble was now contained, Niall rushed to her side, his hands already glowing blue light with healing, as Oghren and Riordan took places behind the suspended Howe. Roland stood, as though frozen on the spot, his eyes staring hatred at the man frozen before him.

"He deserves to die," Roland found himself muttering in a hard voice he barely recognized as his own, his eyes never leaving those of Howe's. Niall scowled over at his fellow Warden as he continued to heal Adela's wound, watching as the blood ceased flowing and the flesh knitted neatly together.

Adela's head shot up, and her eyes sought Roland's. But, the Warden would not take his eyes from his hated foe, would not – _could not_ – meet hers. With a growl, she pushed herself painfully to her feet, despite Niall's protests that she remain still until the healing had been completed. Ignoring the advice of her mage, a hand clasped to her side, Adela moved to stand before Roland, forcing his attention to her and away from Howe.

"He has information that could be helpful in defeating the blood mage," the Warden Commander whispered in a hoarse voice. She reached out, placing it upon Roland's chest, shaking him from his near reverie. "He will pay the penalty for his treachery," she assured him, offering a fierce scowl at the paralyzed human, "Of that you can be assured."

Shaking his red head, Roland took a step nearer the man. Neither Riordan nor Oghren made any move to stop the warrior, and Adela stared at the two with confusion.

"What he did…" Oghren began, scowling at the noble's back, "would earn him a one way journey into the Deep Roads back in Orzammar," The dwarf's green eyes fixed upon Adela's stunned face. "No armor, no weapons."

"Like what was done to Serena?" The elf quipped back, knowing the comparison to be unfair, but trying to get her point across.

Oghren's response was merely to shake his head at her before returning his glare to the suspended human.

Riordan watched the elf, frowning slightly. "I doubt he had any information that would prove useful to the Wardens, Adela."

"Useful to the Wardens?" Adela parroted back, aghast. "What about useful to saving Ferelden?"

Frowning, the senior Grey Warden stepped around the still paralyzed noble, taking a stand before the irate elf. "It's all politics, Adela," he whispered. "Our concern is, first and foremost, defeating the Blight."

"And, unfortunately, Riordan, that means becoming involved in politics!"

But he shook his head in disagreement. "Not necessarily so." He looked back to Howe, the only movement from the man were his eyes, shifting between Adela and the foreign Grey Warden, occasionally fixing upon the Warden from Highever who sought and argued for his death.

Adela shifted her stance to fully face Riordan, leaving Roland at her back. The former knight's eyes went once more to Howe, and that old feeling of rage – the only thing that had kept him alive during those weeks in the deep cellars of Cousland Castle – came upon him, nearly stifling the breath from him.

He had not felt such murderous intent for many, many months, believing himself purged of the desire for vengeance. It all came rushing back at him – his inability to protect the innocents within the castle, his failure to save the Teyrn and Teyrna as Howe's mercenaries swarmed throughout the castle, killing, raping, looting…his own tortures. With a cry of outright rage, the knight plunged forward, his blade driving deeply into the paralyzed form of Howe, slicing easily through flesh, muscle and bone, splitting his heart. Stunned, Adela swept back toward her friend, eyes wide, mouth agape, as, held by Niall's spell, Howe's dying form remained upright, suspended, as great gouts of blood fountained from the grievous wound, flowing down his torso and legs, to pool upon the ground. As he stood, dying, Howe's fading eyes watched as his life's blood seeped around his feet, pooling outwards toward the congealing blood of his lover.


	66. Chapter 66

_My thanks to those who continue to alert, read and review: Wyl, Arsinoe de Blassenville, cloud1004, Shakespira_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 66_

The sounds of battle that had raged beyond his prison had finally died down. Pushing himself against the filthy bars, the young noble stared out over the cobbled flooring at the mouth of the chambers, where pooled the life's blood of the dark haired mage. Frowning, he glanced up, his gut wrenching at the rising odor of blood, bile and other bodily excrements that rose from the corpse.

A moment he waited, craning his ear toward the exit, listening. Only the continued mutterings of the Chant of Light from his chamber mate several cells down could be heard. He gritted his teeth in frustration, but remained silent. The time had long passed when he would rant at the chanter, shouting him down to keep quiet.

Voices, low in tone, retreating, wafted to his ears. If ever he was going to get out of here…

"Hello?" he called out, his voice ragged, throat raw and dry from disuse. He cocked his head, listening. "Is anyone out there?"

His fellow prisoner's voice faltered, and then halted altogether. Lifting his head, running a hand through his filthy hair with a grimace, he stared out toward the entrance, breath abated as he waited.

_Please_…

There was a pause in the voices in the outer chamber. He straightened as he heard footsteps approach, the voices getting slightly louder, but wary.

DA:O

"Hello?" pleaded out a voice ragged, raw and croaking from the inner chamber. The Wardens and their companions paused, listening. "Is anyone out there?"

The plea ceased as Niall finished healing Adela's side wound. She was frowning deeply, scowling up at Roland, who had moved away from his stance above Howe's body. His heart was pounding in his chest, his green eyes glancing over toward the cooling body. His gut wrenched tightly as he turned his gaze to Adela and saw the stark disapproval upon her lovely features.

The former knight felt profound shame at his actions. He had disobeyed a direct order from his Commander. Never in his entire life had he done so, and done so willingly.

But, despite the disapproval from Adela, he could not quite squelch the immense feeling of satisfaction that continued to flow through is limbs, his heart and mind. Howe was dead; vengeance had been reaped.

The chill that emanated from Adela as she rose and brushed by him, leading her companions toward the inner chamber slammed upon the young man as heavily as a fist. And, although Oghren's green eyes held a hint of approval over the vile noble's death, the dwarven berserker still shook his head before moving beside the young elf.

With a heavy sigh, Roland took his position behind the others, sword and shield still held in hand, as he followed the others into the inner chambers.

Roland saw Niall flinch as they stepped over Jowan's body, gingerly tiptoeing over the congealing blood. Cells lined the rear wall; filthy bars black in the dim light afforded the few torches from the chamber's entrance. From his right came a ragged voice, different than the one that had called out, repeating the chant of light.

The voice was mumbled at first, but, as the party entered the chamber fully, the words became clearer:

_And there I saw the Black City,_

_Its towers forever stain'd,_

_Its gates forever shut._

_Heaven has been filled with silence,_

_I knew then,_

_And cross'd my heart with shame._

"Please help me!" Another voice, the one they had heard drift into the outer chamber after their battle with Howe and his men, greeted them as they stepped beyond the light of the entrance. Squinting his eyes, Roland saw a man, perhaps his age or a few years older, standing in one of the cells. His hair was so filthy as to appear a deep brown, yet the man's coloring – pale with red eyebrows and deep, green eyes – suggested that his hair, when washed, would be red. Something about the man's straight, regal nose and high cheekbones struck a chord of recognition within the young knight, but he could not clearly place where he would have encountered the man before.

A sharp gasp escaped Adela's lips, and Roland knew that his Commander knew this man.

The caged man's eyes shot passed the men of the group, fixing solidly upon the female elf. Green eyes widened in disbelief, and he straightened, hands leaving the bars as he stared at the elf. A slight twist of his lips transformed the serious line into a near lecherous smirk.

Roland decided he did not like this man, and, judging by how tense Adela became – even tenser than her earlier anger at Roland himself – told the former knight she did not think much of this man, either.

Eyes as hard and gleaming as sapphires, Adela stepped forward, glaring up into the man's face. None of her companions knew of the fear that coursed through her, aware only of the hard hatred etched upon her features. The man's lips twisted into a smirk, briefly, as his eyes fixed upon the elf's hard face, skimming down her form, taking in the bloody dress and bow naked in her hand.

"Covered yet again in noble blood, my lovely one?" he crooned in a dry voice, ignoring the tightening glare the woman shot him.

"Always room for more," Adela snarled back, hand tightening on her bow.

Roland and the others startled at the vehemence in Adela's normally melodic voice. It was harsh and grainy, pained and hate filled. The young man behind the bars had sense to recognize the potential for danger, and that smirk wiped clean from his face, and he took a cautious step back, hands raised, palms out, in a supplicant manner.

"I'm surprised you live," Adela finally grated out after a moment of relative silence, broken only by the uttering of the chant from the cell down the row. Without awaiting his reply, Adela turned to her companions, ordering Roland and Niall to check the other cells. Once they left, she turned, Riordan and Oghren still at her back, the dwarf glaring menacingly at the man while the senior Grey Warden merely watched the exchanged with keen – and almost knowing – interest.

"I am certain you would have appreciated that," the young man was saying, frowning down at the elf, just a hint of arrogant pride in those deep, green eyes.

Nodding, Adela turned to face him, forcing the bile that threatened to rise in her throat as she glared at her one-time tormentor. "Trust me, Vaughn," she hissed, "I can still make it reality!"

Fear spread across the man's face at the utterance of the elf's threat and he stepped further away, glancing at the two males who had remained with the elf. "Certainly you men won't allow this…this _knife-ear_ to threaten the Arl of Denerim!" he cried out, his face twisting further as amusement crossed the dwarf's face and the human merely raised an eyebrow.

"Call the Warden Commander here '_knife-ear'_ again," Oghren bit out, hefting his bloodied waraxe with ease. "And won't be just her blades you'll be wettin'!"

_Warden Commander_…Disbelief upon his face, Vaughn croaked, "You're the one Howe has been blathering about all this time?" he asked finally, sputtering.

"Give me one reason to let you continue to breathe," Adela ignored completely Vaughn's comment, blue eyes fixed upon his face.

It was Riordan who came up with a reason. "He says he is the Arl of Denerim," Adela turned to glare at the senior warden, unimpressed with his interruption. Riordan gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "You did say that there are politics we need to play at here," he waved a hand toward the calmer caged man. "If he is the Arl of Denerim, then his vote at the Landsmeet could assist us."

"Need I remind you that you were the one who argued against becoming involved in Fereldan politics?" Adela bit out, her glare intensifying.

Giving a small, almost imperceptible shrug, Riordan admitted, "I may have been…wrong in my earlier assessment of the situation."

"Wrong…" Adela muttered, shaking her head.

Vaughn took an uncautious step toward the bars, nodding enthusiastically, he found himself sprinting back only as Adela turned her still hate filled gaze upon him once more, her bow rising unconsciously. Again raising his hands, twisting his head slightly as the others approached, he nodded. "Yes, yes, I can…offer my support to the Grey Wardens," he lunged toward the bars, gripping them in dirty hands, knuckles whitening with his anxiety. "Please let me out and I will be certain to lend my voice – my position – behind your cause!"

Roland stepped to Adela's side, a red brow quirked up. "I know you," he commented after a moment as Adela seemed to consider the noble's offer. "Vaughn Kendalls. Arl Urien's son."

Vaughn looked up at Roland, face creasing as he tried to recall the young man standing before him. Roland offered a small smirk. "I am not surprised you do not remember me, Lord Vaughn," Roland shrugged. "I was a knight serving Highever."

"You knew this scum?" Adela asked, never taking her eyes from Vaughn.

"Knew…" Confusion set in upon his face for a moment and was quickly replaced with revulsion, "No," Roland shook his head. "Vaughn Kendalls was one of those nobles you tended to avoid. He had many habits that the more noble of the families liked to avoid." A realization came over Roland and he glanced down at Adela, then back at Vaughn. His face tightened. "Do you want me to kill him?"

"I think you've done enough killing of nobles for now, Roland," Adela muttered. Stiffening, Roland gave a curt nod and fell back behind his Commander.

"Commander…" Riordan began, calling Adela by her title.

"Yes, yes, Riordan," The elf remarked impatiently. Turning to Vaughn, she gave a quick nod. "Fine. We have your word – your freedom in exchange for your support at the Landsmeet." Before Vaughn could respond, Adela stepped back, motioning Oghren forward. With a gleeful grin, the dwarf swung his axe, without warning to the noble grasping the bars, and smashed the flat of the blade against the rusted lock. With a yelp, clutching his stinging hand, the noble leaped back, scowling at the grinning dwarf.

The door swung open.

"Find a safe place to hide," Adela instructed as the noble stepped free of his cell. "In two days' time, I want you to meet with three of my agents at the mouth of the Servant's Path," she continued to instruct. She tilted her head slightly. "Mid-day. If you are not there…my agents will find you." A sly grin crossed her face, and Vaughn took an involuntary step backwards at the intensity behind her expression. "I will point out that my agents will be a Crow assassin, an Orlesian Bard and a Witch of the Wilds," that grin on her face widened as fear reasserted itself upon Vaughn's features. "Trust me…there will be nowhere for you to hide from this trio."

Giving a nod and promise to meet with her agents at the time and place she appointed, Vaughn scurried from the chamber, seeking exit from the estates that had been his home.

She stood, watching as he fled, standing still long after his form had disappeared. Finally, giving herself a visible shake, she turned, moving toward the other cells.

"Who is our other survivor?" she asked in a strained voice as she moved away from the group.

DA:O

The appearance of the other prisoner sent all thoughts – all of the feelings, vile, tainted, used – away from Adela. The poor man, his near naked body clad only in filthy smalls, rib bones standing out starkly beneath his filth and mottled flesh betrayed the mistreatment he had suffered for Maker knew how long.

Kneeling upon the dirty floor of his cell, hands clasped at his bent forehead, he rocked back and forth upon the balls and heel of his feet, the Chant of Light murmuring from between dry and cracked lips. Niall, without a word from his Commander, stepped to the poor man's side, slipping down to a crouch, hands tentatively raised before the praying man's head as healing magic sprang to life. A gasp answered the flow of magic, and the ragged head rose, unfocused eyes fixing upon the mage. Niall frowned at the prisoner as he felt a familiar tug at his magic. Continuing to allow his magic to flow, healing the numerous sores and open wounds the marked the man's flesh, the Warden Mage raised his head to look up into Adela's face.

"This man is a Templar," he advised before focusing his attention back to his patient.

"Templar?' Adela asked, bending down to look into his face. Dark, dirty hair poked his eyes, which were unfocused but a deep brown. Malnourishment had stripped any fat and extra flesh from the poor soul's tall and lanky form.

"Alfstanna?" the Templar spoke, his voice as ragged and raw as his appearance, eyes fixing momentarily upon Adela's face. Blinking, he frowned, his dry lips cracking with the movement. "Little Sister?" He asked, raising a dirty hand to cup Adela's cheek.

Her eyes searching Niall as she clasped a hand over the Templar's to give it a gentle squeeze, Adela asked, "Niall," the mage frowned, anticipating her words. "Is there anything…?"

"The damage to his body…that can be repaired. Some minor healing, truly, and an abundance of food, clean clothing, herbal baths and rest. However, the damage to his mind…" the mage shook his head as he sent another tendril of magic into the Templar's body, the Templar's gaze still fixed upon Adela. The elf frowned, a questioning raise of her eyebrows and Niall shrugged his shoulders as he continued.

"The Chantry addicts the Templars to lyrium," he nodded at the outraged expression that crossed Adela's features, the mage taking note of the uncomfortable shift of feet from their other companions. "They tell them that it is necessary for their magic countering abilities, but we all know from our time with Alistair that it's not necessarily so."

Adela nodded, a lump forming in her breast. How close had Alistair been to becoming a lyrium addicted automaton? A slight shiver coursed through her body as she returned her gaze to the suffering man kneeling in the muck of his cell. Then understanding came upon her. "This Templar has been without his supply of lyrium…"

"For quite some time," the former Circle mage finished, his expression one of profound sympathy for a man he should feel nothing but anger toward. "If they go too long without it, they go into withdrawals. The effects vary from Templar to Templar, depending on how long their exposure to the stuff had been. Judging by this man's age, I would suspect he has been addicted for decades."

"We need to get him out of here," Roland replied from above Adela's head. The elf looked up, noting how focused the former Knight's attention was upon the Templar, his expression sympathetic.

"As much as I hate to say it, the Chantry is most likely the best place for this man," Niall admitted as he sent another tendril of magic into the man. "They are better equipped to help out with those who have become lyrium addled as well as those suffering from withdrawal."

"Lyrium addled?" Roland asked, frowning.

"When a Templar has been addicted for a very long period of times, many decades usually, their body starts to reject the stuff. Their minds erode under the toxins contained within the material," Niall scowled in thought. "Remember, this is dangerous stuff we're talking about. The lyrium potions we mages injest are diluted to the extreme, usually only the smallest amount of actual lyrium is contained within the potion. The mixture provided to Templars is a stronger mix."

"So, basically, the Chantry poisons their own servants for…what? Control?" Adela asked, her hand tightening around the Templar's.

Nodding, Niall bent closer to the Templar, his brown eyes searching the dulled orbs of the other man. "I wonder who he is," the mage muttered as he sent more healing magic into the bony frame.

"Immerick," the Templar muttered, raising his head again, his free hand tightened into a fist as he turned his attention to the companions. Eyes slipping again to the elven woman, he repeated, "Immerick."

Confusion furrowed the elven Warden's brow, but Roland replied, "Must be his name," he looked at the Templar, who was now watching the red haired man. "Immerick?" Roland said directly to the Templar, who nodded in reply. A small smile upon his face, Roland remarked, "I am Warden Roland. This," he indicated Adela, her now freed hand unconsciously moved to rest upon the Templar's shoulder, steadying him slightly. "Is Warden Commander Adela."

"Wardens?" The Templar questioned, his voice stronger than it had been earlier. Eyes regained some focus as they flickered back and forth. "Yes, there's a Blight. Yes," he muttered, glancing down at the floor, brow furrowed in concentration. "Blood mage, outside of Redcliffe. Almost had him. Oh! Alfstanna!" He jerked upwards, his body straightening, feet slipping slightly. Were it not for the hold Adela and Niall had on him, he would have fallen, face first, into his own filth. "Tell Alfstanna I failed in my duty! Need I to the Maker's side again!"

"Who is Alfstanna?" Adela asked, her grip upon his shoulder tightening, striving to bring him back to the present even as his mind once more slipped into the past, or whatever dark places it had retreated during his imprisonment and withdrawals from the lyrium.

"Bann Alfstanna," the wardens glanced at each other. "Give her this…" Immerick handed to Adela a signet ring, the form of a rearing elk emblazoned upon its surface. "Tell her…" his voice choked, and he spat out thick spittle before continuing. "Tell her…I am sorry…I failed."

"Immerick," Adela encouraged, pulling on his shoulder. Again his unfocused eyes turned to her face, but did not fix upon her this time. "Come with us, we can help you."

Shaking his head viscously, the tortured Templar surged to his feet, stumbling back against the rear wall, shoving Niall away with his erratic movements. "No!" he screeched, raising his hands to protect his face. "Just…tell Alfstanna…" his words degenerated into muttered ramblings, and the companions stepped back from the aggravated man.

"Okay, okay Immerick," Adela rose, stepping away, her hands held palms forward. "You stay here. We shall tell Alfstanna."

Nodding his head, Immerick sank back to his haunches, resuming his muttering of the Chant of Light, his sister's name interspersed among the verses.

DA:O

"Your Majesty, we must hurry!" the elven servant's voice was tense as she swung the door open, revealing Anora. The queen stepped through the aperture, stubbornly shaking her blonde head.

"We give them a few more minutes," Anora insisted as she cautiously peeked around the corner, blue eyes scanning the length of the corridor. Stepping back, she pulled the elf along with her, stepping once more into the room that had been her prison for well over a day, carefully closing the door behind them.

Exasperated despite being well used to the Queen's stubborn streak, Erlina shook her head. "The Wardens risked a great deal to free you, My Queen," she insisted, turning back to the door only to be stopped by a slender hand upon her arm.

"I know you may not be aware of this, Erlina," Anora said in her quiet voice, "but Adela means a great deal to me. I simply cannot – _will not_ – walk away in freedom uncertain what has befallen her!"

Tipping her head down, Erlina sighed against a rising headache, against the queen's words. Of course she knew how close the human queen and elven artist were. It was one of the things that Arawn and his group had long since ferreted out. A weakness they had sought to exploit. A weakness she would have exploited not too long ago. Now…well, now she just wanted to get the stubborn _shem_ out of the estates, saving her life, and by extension her own.

But Anora had taken a firm stance, and Erlina knew that she would not budge until either too much time had passed…or the elf in question made an appearance.

And so the pair of women waited, not daring to poke their heads out of their prison again, for fear that they may be caught, that what the Wardens had risked would be for naught. How much time passed, Erlina was uncertain. Anora remained standing, her intense blue eyes – so much like her father's, yet softer, somehow, despite their hardness – fixed upon the room's door.

Soon, there was a slight scratching at the door; the women tensed as the handle was turned and the door opened slowly, cautiously. Then, a soft, quiet voice called out Anora's name and they both calmed, rushing to the opening door, revealing Adela – bloodied and disheveled – with the three men she had arrived with, plus one more.

"What are you doing still here?" Adela asked, eyes fixed upon Anora with a slight sense of the disapproval Erlina herself had felt toward the human. Obviously, Adela had expected the pair to escape as soon as the barrier dropped.

Anora merely smiled at her friend as she moved to pull the much smaller woman into an embrace, ignoring completely the bloodied state of the elven warden. Shaking her head, Adela pushed herself free, glaring at her friend for a moment before turning that glare to the Orlesian elf.

"Why are you still here?" Adela asked again, this time steel in her voice, as she directed her question to the servant.

Waving a slender, long fingered hand toward the queen seemed answer enough for, before the Orlesian could open her mouth, Adela was shaking her head, a wry smile upon her face.

"Figures," she muttered, shaking her head at the queen. "Well, since you decided to stay for the party, perhaps we should go."

"Party all over?" Anora asked, smirking at the smaller woman, pushing aside her dread at the state her friend rescued her in. Blue eyes scanned the length and breadth of the elf, searching for wounds to explain the blood.

"Oh, it's just beginning," Adela quipped back, motioning everyone from the room.

A quick glance down the corridor where they came from reminded the elf that there would be no exit that direction. Their only choice was to turn back the way they had originally entered this section of the estates, and exit via the main set of doors.

Which were now blocked by several guards and mages, commanded by Ser Cauthrien herself.

DA:O

"Wardens!" Cauthrien's strong voice echoed throughout the great hall. "You are under arrest!"

"What are the charges, Cauthrien?" Adela asked, stepping fully into the grand entry of the estates, her own patience dying down as she wondered at the knight's presence.

A dark brow quirked and a slow, menacing smile crossed her features. "There is an outstanding warrant for your arrest, Warden. And now, you exacerbate those charges with further criminal activities!" She waved a hand toward where Anora stood at the back of the group. "Kidnapping the queen? Murdering Teyrn Howe." she paused, tilting her head as her men moved from formation, preparing to arrest the troublesome wardens. "Where does your treachery end, _Warden_?"

"How did you know we would be here?" Adela asked, frowning as she glanced back to Anora and Erlina.

Dark eyes fixing upon Erlina, the knight addressed her answer to the Orlesian elf, who remained calm. "Did you really expect your rather erratic race through the palace, searching for the queen, to go unnoticed? And now I find you, conspiring with the Wardens, to kidnap our monarch?"

"It was Howe, not us who arranged for Anora's kidnapping, Cauthrien," Adela advised the knight with a scowl.

"And who shall believe that, I wonder?"

Adela merely shrugged her shoulders. "And the death of Howe?" she tilted her head.

Motioning to one of her men, who stepped from the others and rushed by the Wardens down the corridor they had recently traversed, Cauthrien then replied, "You did not manage to kill all of Teyrn Howe's men, you realize."

"You do realize that Howe held several men – nobles, a Warden and a Templar to be exact – prisoner?" Adela remarked, trying not to allow this woman to rattle her. "And he attacked us. We had to defend ourselves."

"You invaded his estates," Cauthrien hissed, her hand gripping the hilt of the greatsword she held easily in one hand. "He was justified in protecting himself."

"When is kidnapping nobles, Templars and Your Queen justified?" Anora asked sternly, stepping from behind the group to stand by Adela's side.

The elven Warden shot her friend an annoyed look, hissing for her to get to the back of the group. Ignoring her completely, Anora kept her focus upon Cauthrien.

"Teyrn Howe had learned of the Wardens' presence within the city, Your Majesty," Cauthrien remarked calmly, with the slightest of bows of the head. "He was merely seeking to protect you."

Nodding, her eyes narrowing, Anora replied, "Upon threat to my person, he removed me from my rooms," Anora responded calmly, regally. "Even my personal servant was unaware of my absence."

"I know only of the plans as he discussed with me and the Regent, _Your Majesty_."

"And you truly expect me to believe my father approved of my removal from the palace grounds?"

"It was he that ordered it."

Silence fell as Anora kept her knowing gaze upon the woman who had served her father loyally for many years. "You lie."

Cauthrien blinked, startled by the simple accusation. Before she could recover, Anora continued.

"The Wardens came to my assistance at my servant's request. Erlina knew well that should anything befall me, she should seek out their assistance." It was a lie, but one that Cauthrien would not know. Erlina, for her part, remained quiet and observant, her expression giving nothing away. "As for any other charges you may…manufacture against the Grey Wardens, you know as well as I do that the Wardens and their companions were invited to the Landsmeet. As such, any and all warrants upon them are considered suspended until such time as the Landsmeet convenes or other…arrangements have been made."

"Your Majesty…" Cauthrien began, but Anora cut her off, turning her attention to those who accompanied the knight.

Many of the soldiers had fallen to their knees as the gaze of their queen fell upon them. Heads bowed, they knelt. A small smile crossed Anora's face. She knew she had won this particular battle, and that she and the Wardens would get through.

"Such was the arrangement as Calenhad met with Teyrna Elethea Cousland at the time she swore fealty to him," Anora reminded the knight, who scowled at her. "And such has been the practice of the Landsmeet since, to allow those in dispute to come together without the fear of retribution prior to any formal accommodations being reached."

Cauthrien gritted her teeth, her gaze slipping to those soldiers who remained upon their knees. "Then I shall escort you back to the palace, Your Majesty," Cauthrien offered, regaining her composure.

Anora had other ideas. "No, Ser Cauthrien. You have served the Regent well. However, Arl Eamon has invited me to his townhome, and I do have matters I wish to discuss with the Warden Commander," she gestured gracefully to Adela before once again folding her hands before her stomach demurely. "I am certain I shall find safe passage back to the palace once our discussions and arrangements have been made."

With those words, Anora turned to Adela and the others. "Warden Commander," she addressed Adela formally, who crossed her arms before her chest and bowed in response. "You may now escort me to Redcliffe Manor."

"Indeed, Majesty," Adela replied, hiding her smile as she bowed yet again.

The soldiers accompanying Cauthrien rose and stepped aside, allowing the queen and her entourage to pass through them. Those mages and soldiers who had not shown fealty to the queen glanced over at the Knight, who merely scowled and then nodded briefly at them. Hesitantly, they, too, parted, allowing the queen and the others to pass by them and through the large, double doors.

And out into the streets of Denerim.

DA:O

Giddy, Anora actually laughed once they were out of sight of the Estates. "I cannot believe Cauthrien let us pass!"

"Anora…" Adela warned, glancing about them. Behind them, the others watched the shadows warily, Erlina remaining close to the queen as they passed through the narrow streets.

Taking a breath, Anora regained her renowned composure. "I am sorry, Adela. It is just…I have been a prisoner in my own home for far too long, and seeing you alive...I have waited the opportunity to just rub Cauthrien's nose…"

Anora stopped as Adela paused in her tracks, raising a hand in warning to the others. Roland took his position slightly behind Adela, shield and sword in hand as Riordan, axe and short sword in hand, melted into the shadows. Oghren merely hefted his axe as Niall pulled his staff free, brown eyes searching for what had caused Adela to stop their procession.

A moment passed and then a group of warriors – armored and armed – turned the corner, entering their field of vision. As they neared, the Wardens and their companions could see the city insignia upon the breastplates. A familiar face smiled at Adela, who immediately relaxed, unnotching her arrow and lowering her bow as they approached.

"Michael," the elf breathed with great relief, smiling into the face of the Sargent.

Smiling down at her as he placed his large hands upon her slender shoulders, the Sargent of the Guard bowed slightly. "We heard you may have need of back up," his eyes raised to scan over the group, settling upon the form of the Queen. "Your Majesty," the soldier intoned, bowing as the other guards did likewise.

"Please," Anora called, smiling and pleased with the show of loyalty. "Rise, my good man. Your timing could not be more perfect."

"But how…?" Adela asked, frowning over at her friend.

"Oh, that," Michael smirked, glancing back the way they came. "Imagine my surprise when a young, half-starved man wearing clothes that did not quite fit him limped up to me to tell me a crazed story of how he was rescued from the dungeons beneath the Denerim Estates by a, and I quote, 'pretty blonde elf'," his smile widened. "Since I knew you were in the city, I figured it had to be you."

Shaking her head, unable to believe their good fortune, Adela grasped Michael Kylon's forearm in a tight grip. "Think you and your men could see your way of escorting the Queen to Redcliffe Manor?"

"It would be our pleasure and our utmost duty to do so," Michael remarked, his dark eyes rising to scan the path the Wardens had recently came down. Brow furrowing slightly, he pulled her forward. "Perhaps as soon as possible?"

Glancing back, concerned Cauthrien would set a trap, Adela nodded her agreement and allowed Sargent Michael Kylon and his guardsmen to escort them back to Arl Eamon's townhouse.


	67. Chapter 67

_As always, I appreciate all of the alerts, favorites and reviews that this story continued to generate. There have been moments, I tell you… *cheeky grin*_

_My thanks to those who take the time to read and review: Wyl, cloud1004, Biff McLaughlin, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville, and lynn-writer (a new reader/reviewer! Yay!)_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 67_

Anger simmered just below her skin; a living thing, moving along her bloodstream. Pausing at the door, she frowned, and then reached out with one slender hand and turned the knob, pushing the door open without preamble or even a knock.

The return journey back to Eamon's townhouse had been quiet, despite how much Adela wanted to berate Roland for disobeying her orders; despite how much the elven warden wished to simply turn around and grab hold of Anora and hug her friend after so long. Neither occurred as she staunchly followed Michael Kylon back to the townhouse.

Upon arrival, Kylon had stationed several of his guardsmen alongside those in service to the Arl, and then proceeded to follow the Wardens and the queen into the structure. Once inside, Kylon positioned himself directly in front of the doors, assuming the stance of a statue.

Adela would have laughed had she the mind to. Despite his years in the city guard, Michael Kylon was not one known for his patience or ability to remain still for any length of time, preferring patrols to guard duty.

There were things to attend to, personal matters to be set aside. After dismissing the others – each of whom gave Roland a look significant in sympathy – and promising time to spend with Anora to go over matters, she instructed a nearby maid to see the Queen to one of the chambers near her own, and went off in search Alistair.

Whom she found, patiently awaiting her arrival in the library, seated at one long table with Morrigan and Wynne, nearly overpowered by the presence of tome after tome, piled precariously upon the table before the trio. Adela allowed herself a breath of relief at the absence of Fergus. She wanted to speak with the young Teyrn alone.

Briefly, she went over the events with the others, Alistair wincing once Adela revealed that Fergus' own sister had been behind the massacre at Castle Cousland. When Adela explained Roland's insubordination, Alistair offered to discipline the junior warden in her stead.

An offer she quickly declined.

"I have to do this myself, Alistair," she said, frowning deeply, her voice cool and neutral. "If I don't, who knows when next he'll decide to disobey an order that doesn't appeal to him."

Alistair nodded, completely understanding. "I offer because I'm your Second," he explained, wanting to make absolutely certain she understood he was not trying to run roughshod over her. "That's what a Second does." He tilted his head, frowning now. "I'm not really sure how the Wardens go about sanctioning one of their own for disobeying an order." He gave a shrug here. "Never heard of it happening before," he took note of Adela's wince.

Dipping her head, placing a hand to his arm, the elf nodded. "Thanks, Alistair. I appreciate it. Next time, you get to flog the sod."

Grinning, trying to force a smile from his wife, Alistair replied, "Consider it a privilege, Commander."

His quip earned him neither smile nor grin. "I've had Anora placed in the rooms next to ours," Adela continued after a moment. "I need to speak with her," she sighed heavily before continuing, rubbing her hands harshly along her face. "But, I need to speak with Fergus, the sooner the better."

"Want me to go in with you?" Alistair offered, retaking his seat at the table, pushing side the many books he and the mages had pulled out and were searching through, quickly catching the few from the top that threatened to go over the side.

Her blue eyes scanning over the numerous tomes, Adela nodded. "For that, I think I'll need as much support as possible." She shook her blonde head. "I just…don't know how to tell him."

"Speak only the truth," Morrigan offered, never raising her head from the tome currently opened before her. "Do not mince your words. Teyrn Cousland is a man who values the truth above all else." Now the witch raised her eyes to meet Adela's blue. "It will add to the burden he currently carries upon his shoulders. However, the sooner he learns of this, the sooner he can move on."

"_Move on_?" Wynne interrupted, white brow furrowed. "The poor man is about to learn…"

"I _think_ what Morrigan means," Adela interrupted before the two mages could get into an argument, an occurrence that seemed to be happening between the two more often these days. "Is that he can piece it all together, understand now fully what happened, and continue with his healing."

Smirking at the elder mage, Morrigan nodded her raven head. "'Tis as Adela says."

Wynne sat, staring at the other mage for a moment, before huffing out a sigh and returning to her own studies. Morrigan gave a little tilt of her head and a twist of her lips before resuming her own studying.

"After I speak with Roland," Adela turned back to Alistair, who could only nod in reply at the resolute toe within the woman's voice. Without another word, Adela turned and left the library to search out the junior warden.

DA:O

Roland was standing in the center of his chambers, eyes staring out of the sole window that overlooked the gardens of the estate. He turned as the door opened and admitted his Commander, and so assumed an inspection stance.

He could feel the anger as it continued to radiate the elven warden, and he flinched slightly as she turned her back to him for a moment. But he remained quiet, standing at attention, to await his Commander's words.

Without turning to face him, Adela asked, "What would have happened had you disobeyed an order while in the service of the Couslands?"

The question was quietly asked, but Roland could hear the steel in her voice as she posed the question. As he contemplated her question, Adela turned around to face him, allowing him to see not only the anger but the disappointment still etched clearly upon her features.

It was that disappointment that hurt him far more than her anger.

Taking a deep breath, he answered, "First, you should understand that Teyrn Cousland – Fergus' father – was a…fairer man than many other nobles," at Adela's nod, he continued, "A Writ of Censure would be given," the former knight supplied.

"Writ of Censure?"

"A formal reprimand, one of which would be given to me, another kept by my superior, and a third copy given to the Teyrn."

A frown formed upon her delicate features. "For disobeying a direct order from your Commander?"

Here, Roland took a deep breath. In all of his years of service to the Couslands, he had only ever received one Writ, and that had been early in his career in their service once his squireship had been completed. An argument between two hotheaded young officers that had turned into an exchange of blows, and finally devolved into a full out brawl. To this day, Roland had been ashamed at his actions.

"The Writ, as well as another punishment fitting the disobedience," the young man offered. "Anything from extra guard duty to pulling patrol to loss of rank..." His voice faltered, "to outright dismissal."

Here he stiffened as he considered the very real possibility that Adela would eject him from the ranks of the Grey Wardens.

Taking a deep sigh, Adela pressed her index finger and thumb to the bridge of her nose. "Well," she replied in a very tired voice, "I can't very well oust you from the Wardens, now, can I? And I doubt there's any rank lower in the Wardens than 'junior'."

The briefest flicker of relief touched along the young warden's senses at her words, even as Adela turned her back to him once more. "And giving _you_ extra duty is almost a reward." She turned back, that frown still in place. "For now, _Warden_, I cannot make any changes to your current duties. With so few of us, and in the middle of a Blight no less, it would only hurt our cause, and we cannot afford that."

Still thinking, she took a step away from Roland, rubbing at her temples. Roland knew that Adela had been feeling very stressed – being back in Denerim had not had the calming effect on her as it had on others in the party. He knew that she was worrying over the Alienage, over Anora, the upcoming Landsmeet and now Fergus. With one carelessly impulsive action, he had added to the burden already upon her slender shoulders.

Her back still to him, she continued, "But know that I am greatly disappointed in you, Roland," her voice was as hard as it had been during the first part of their talk, but there was a finer quality to it now, regret, anger and hurt, certainly, but…something else the young Warden could not identify. "I understand very well the need for revenge. As you had faced your time," she tilted her face over her shoulder to look directly into Roland's green eyes, "and failed," she turned away again, noticing the flinch on his face as she did so, "I faced mine."

There was a pause, and Adela's head tilted down, a posture telling the other warden that she was staring at her hands. Taking a deep breath, the elf quietly continued.

"Vaughn Kendalls, the noble we…_rescued_ from the dungeons…" there was a hitch in her voice, but she continued, "I would have given nearly _anything_ to drive a dagger deep into his black heart."

A frown furrowed between Roland's brow and he had to stop himself from moving to Adela's side as he noticed the twitch of her shoulders and a slight sob escape her lips. "That bastard took…a great deal from me…from my family, friends…my very community," she lifted her head but did not turn to look at her companion, her voice continuing on, in a very faraway manner. Roland wondered if she remembered he was even there.

"He ruined my life, was the reason I was conscripted into the Wardens, and yet, I had to let him live. His…voice…may be needed in support at the Landsmeet."

Now she did turn to him, and Roland could see the tears that hung in her eyes, face pale, a determined set of her lips, her jaw tense. What had Vaughn done…and that thought faltered as the former knight recalled rumors about the arrogant young nobleman. He then recalled a time, shortly after a visit to Denerim, when Adela had been beside herself with worry and guilt, proclaiming she was the cause for the trouble in the alienage.

And in that moment _he knew_…

"Adela…" She gave him a sharp look and he quickly amended. "Commander…"

But she cut him off with an angry swipe of her hand and sharp shake of her head. "I will write up a Writ of Censure to be placed in the Wardens' records. I will need to think of other suitable censure for you as well." Her eyes hardened, vaporizing her tears, releasing from them that tired look they had held since leaving Howe's estates. "If you ever do anything like you did back at Denerim Estates…" she paused, frowning. "I may have to rethink my decision of making you a Grey Warden." Her eyes narrowed. "Am I understood, _Warden_?"

Nodding sharply once, Roland responded with a quick, "Understood," and remained at attention as Adela's hard blue eyes scrutinized him once more before she turned and left his chambers.

Heart falling to his feet, Roland relaxed his stance only once the door had closed tightly behind the elven Commander of the Grey.

DA:O

"He's strong," Alistair said as he placed a comforting hand upon Adela's shoulder as she carefully pulled the door closed behind them, taking care to offer the nobleman the solace he had requested as he took in the news they had brought to him. Taking a breath and nodding as though trying to convince himself, Alistair repeated, "He's strong. Been through more than most and still managed to keep himself together."

Staring back at the door, unable to ignore the stifled sobs from the other side, Adela frowned, shaking her head as she placed a small, slender hand to the cool wood of the door. "I hated having to tell him…"

"Don't," Alistair warned, catching her upraised hand and pulling her into his arms as he rested his chin to the crown of her head. "We had to tell him. If it came out otherwise, and we didn't…"

"I know," the elf breathed, pulling herself tighter against Alistair's body, breathing in his clean scent. "It still feels…"

"I know," her husband whispered into her hair before placing a small kiss to her crown. "C'mon, love," he pulled her from him, gazing into her eyes. "I think that you've earned some time with Anora, don't you?"

She breathed deeply, her blue eyes closing tightly. "Knowing she's alive and alright…" she shook her head, her eyes opening and fixing upon the door for another moment. "Okay, I should speak with her and then we can decide our next course of action."

DA:O

The reunion with Anora had been short – far too short. As happy as both women had been at their reunion, Anora – ever practical Anora – could not keep silent for much longer regarding her concerns for the Alienage. Grasping Adela's smaller hands within her cool hands, she pulled the elf into her chambers, offering a small smile to the male Grey Warden who had accompanied her.

Stunned, Adela now sat in one of the room's more comfortable chairs, vaguely aware of the tea Erlina had placed within her numb hands, as her mind ran over what Anora was telling her.

Was still telling her.

"…city guards have been allowed entrance," Anora was saying, her clear blue eyes wide with concern as they searched the stunned features of the elf beside her.

Shaking her head, Adela frowned down into her cooling tea, carefully setting it to the table in front of her. Months after Ostagar, Anora had ceased receiving communications from Cyron, from Hahren of the Alienage…Adela had already known that Michael had been unable to get word from inside the elven ghetto. That much she had learned during her first journey back to the city those many months prior. That things within the Alienage had not improved…

"You say that the city guard cannot gain access into the Alienage," Adela remarked, her brow furrowed with thought. Anora nodded a small frown upon her lovely face. The elf glanced up, her deep blue eyes staring into Anora's pale blues. "Did you not even receive reports from the Arl's forces?"

Scoffing, Anora shot out of her seat, her slender hands clasping before her as she paced. Adela frowned as she watched her friend, taking in the stiffness of the Queen's back, the darkness beneath her eyes…worry and frustration marked the young queen, despair and grief had aged Anora far more than her twenty-six years ever could.

Yet, she knew her friend, and allowed Anora time to work through her frustrations, giving Alistair a quick glance to assure that he was still there, as quiet as the man had been.

Her husband gave her a quick smile of encouragement as he continued his stance in front of the sole entry door to the chambers.

Having gathered herself somewhat, Anora turned back to Adela, remaining standing as she spoke. "As Arl of Denerim, Howe would only advise that he was 'handling the situation'." Anora sighed. "Had the Crown any true power when dealing with Arls and those that fell under their rule, I may have been able to have forced the issue. However…"

Adela was nodding, "Yes, I recall you and Cailan telling me about the issues surrounding the Crown directly involving itself in the sovereignty of the Lords."

"Not to mention my father advised me not to interfere."

Alistair shifted at his position before the door, and Adela rose to her feet, glancing once at her husband as she stepped to the queen. "You noticed how unusual your father has been acting."

Anora nodded as Adela continued. "Cailan had talked with me about it while at Ostagar. I had not noticed it…immediately. However, your father had acted…not quite himself on a few occasions. And, I believe we know why."

Anora blinked, frowning at her friend slightly. "What do you believe?"

"That Loghain is being controlled by a blood mage."

Stated matter of factly, Anora could only stare for a moment. Adela knew her friend, knew her well, and could almost hear the inner workings of her mind as the queen took in the information, mentally dissecting it and turning it over to compare with her own observations.

It took a mere minute before Anora was nodding, frowning slightly in her agreement.

"It is the only thing that truly makes sense," Anora said softly, allowing herself to fall ungracefully into a nearby chair. Tilting her head, she stared at her friend. "And I would bet my crown that Arawn is the mage."

Blinking at the uncharacteristic vitriol in Anora's voice, Adela nodded, allowing the slightest of smiles to turn the corners of her mouth upwards. "Looks rather like Maric?" There was a thoughtful pause, and then Anora nodded as the realization struck her. How could she have missed the resemblance before?

"It is not something that can be addressed at this time," Anora advised the young elf, her blue eyes skimming upwards to take in Alistair's stare. "There is no possible way to get Father from the palace. However," her eyes gleamed slightly. "He will be present at the Landsmeet. It would be a requirement."

"Then we have to figure out a way to get him away from the influence of the mage then," Alistair offered in a strong, confident voice. Both women turned to stare at the young man, who gave them both a lopsided grin. "How hard could it be?"

Anora merely stared, dumbfounded, at the young warden, as Adela rolled her eyes.

Held bowing down, Adela slowly rose to her feet. "We need to get into the Alienage," she said, her head rising. "There is something going on there…"

"I agree," Anora replied. "Removing Howe from the mix increases our own chances of getting a hold of Father. However, you will need the support of the other nobles, in the off chance we fail to liberate my father." The queen stepped before Adela, placing both cool hands upon the elf's slender shoulders. "I know that you have been having your companions speak with the nobles in the public arenas," she smiled, "such as the taverns and others….establishments. But if you can find out what is happening with the Alienage…"

"It may answer a lot of questions that are floating around as to why the nobles suddenly do not have access to their servants," Adela's voice was low, harsher than Anora had ever heard it, and she looked over at Alistair, a questioning look in her eyes. Alistair merely shrugged his broad shoulders, his gaze returning to his wife.

"The elves are citizens of Ferelden," Anora reminded Adela, her hands gripping the elf's shoulders tightly. "They will need a voice at the Landsmeet as well."

Sighing, Adela nodded, giving her friend an apologetic smile as she pulled herself from her friend's embrace and headed for the door.

DA:O

"You are not leaving me behind again!" Alistair hissed as he pulled his sword and shield free from their stands, turning to glare at his wife, his commander.

A blonde brow rose, a hip tilted as Adela glared back at her Second. "Don't start…" She warned, her voice hard and uncompromising and Alistair flinched at the sound.

It did not, however, deter him. Shaking his head, the tall human stepped forward, placing his strong hands upon Adela's slender shoulders. "You keep leaving me behind. Your reasons have been sound," he backpedalled a bit, "but, since Roland is officially being sanctioned, he can be the warden the others turn to for orders."

"Roland?" Adela could barely contain the anger from her voice and Alistair frowned at that, concerned and confused as to why she remained angry. "He failed to follow orders; I am not going to trust him to follow through with providing orders or information to the others. Not now. Not with the Landsmeet so close!"

"Adela, be reasonable," Alistair tried his soothing voice, but was rewarded with a blue eyed glare for his efforts. "_Warden_ Roland is not going to risk your fury again. He'll toe the line. I just…"

"What?" Adela turned, adjusting her daggers as she faced Alistair.

Sighing, running a heavy hand over his newly shorn head, he gave a shrug. "I don't like you walking into Maker knows what without me guarding your back." He stepped forward, gazing down into his wife's eyes. She was his commander, but at this moment, the protectiveness he felt was not the one of a Second for his Commander. "Things could have gone very wrong back at the estates. We only know something isn't right in the Alienage…"

"Look, Alistair," Adela placed a hand to his strong forearm. "I really don't think that bringing a human with me would be a good idea."

"You're bringing Anders," Alistair pointed out, frowning.

Sighing, she nodded. "Okay, _another_ human. I need Anders; he has healing skills that rival even Wynne's. Plus, he has an easier, lighter manner than our resident grandmother does. I need that to face whatever it is that's going on in the Alienage. Zevran and Oghren will be right with me."

"A dwarf…"

"Had I more elves in our group, I would try and make the group comprised solely of elves. However, we don't. Zev and I are the only elves." A memory of a smiling Artemis hit Adela and she shifted uncomfortably, forcing the smiling elf's image away. "Anders will be accepted, to a point, because he is a healer and all he has to do is smile that charming smile of his and they'll melt. Oghren is the better choice to accompany us simply because he's _not_ _human_…"

"And you don't think that by bringing another sympathetic and _more_ charming human – _me_ – along may help to change their minds?"

"I'm not trying to change their minds, Alistair," Adela's voice was weary. "I'm just trying to find out what's going on with as little resistance as possible." That frown deepened. "Besides, you would only represent what they fear most in humans."

"What's that?"

Waving a hand to encompass his entire body, armor and sheaths, she remarked, "You are a warrior. Your strength is obvious in your form, stance, the way you walk, and armament. Add to that the fact you look like Cailan," she waved a hand as he opened his mouth, "many of the elves worked in the palace. And despite Cailan being a popular king, he still represented the nobility that continued to keep us downtrodden and used for their own…amusement…for so long."

"I'd intimidate them," came Alistair's quiet response.

"No, you would anger them."

"Will they ever accept me?" he had to ask, concern that he would never be accepted by his wife's family crashing down upon him in a wave.

Adela lifted her head, blue eyes fixed upon her husband's face. "Once this is over; once you have had a chance to speak with my father and get to know my people – and they you – in a less stressful time, they will love you." She forced the assurance into her voice. Alistair, no fool, recognized it, and fell silent.

The man stood still, staring down into Adela's face. It seemed to the elf that he was holding his breath, and with it, any temper that may be threatening to rear up. Finally, he released his frustration in a sputter of a sigh, shaking his head as he stepped around the elf to place his sword and shield back to their stands.

Turning, he frowned, something dark in his eyes. "I still don't like it," he said as he took the few steps to stand before the young woman. "I don't like you going off without me. I'm your shield; Oghren tends to swing blind."

Chuckling, a slender hand rose to cup Alistair's stubble covered cheek. "I know, Love. But, I'd rather have to duck a few of Oghren's swings than risk upsetting the Alienage more than it already is."

Her face crinkled slightly as she remembered her visit to the cells. Still keeping silent on finding Vaughn tucked away and still very much alive, she reached into a pocket, pulling forth the ring handed her by the imprisoned Templar. Lifting her hand, she held the ring out to her husband. Frowning, Alistair took the ring, taking note of the rearing elk, identifying immediately that it was a signet ring. A frown formed on his face and he raised a questioning brow.

"We found a Templar, in Howe's dungeons," Adela's voice was low and soft, her eyes fixed upon the signet ring held tightly between the fingers of her husband. "He said he was the brother of Bann Alfstanna." Now she raised her eyes, a stiff smile upon her face. "I promised him we would return it to her. I need you to deliver it to her."

The frown still upon his face, Alistair nodded, knowing he could not argue any further with the woman. This task was make work, to keep him busy; one any one of their companions could perform this fetch and carry task.

However, there was a hopeful glimmer in her eyes, and Alistair realized, at that moment, that this task, as simple as it seemed, was important to Adela. It was more than playing politics at this point. She needed someone who understood loss, who could speak to another and convey hope and sympathy. Someone who could show the strength and humanity of the Grey Wardens.

Suddenly, he did not feel quite as put out about being left behind as he had a moment ago.

Head bowed, the pair stood silently for a moment as Adela allowed Alistair to accept the fact that, yet again, she was leaving him behind while she went off to face whatever danger seemed to be lurking for Wardens around each corner and down every alley of the capitol city. Finally, he nodded, raising his head. "I go on record that I don't like this. As your Second, I should be the one watching your back," he pulled her to him, resting his head upon the crown of her blonde head. "As your husband, I should be the one protecting you."

He kissed her head, feeling her tremble with a slight chuckle. Gently disentangling herself from the warm hold, Adela rose to her toes to deliver a chaste kiss to Alistair's lips. "I wonder if we will ever have a normal marriage."

Chuckling, Alistair returned her kiss. "I can't wait to find out."

DA:O

Wind whispered softly through the trees, gently ruffling the leaves that formed the thick canopy overhead. Dark eyes scanned the grounds beyond the forest's borders. A slender, tanned hand rose, calling a halt to those who followed behind.

Another tattooed elf stepped closer to the border, watching the group of humans who emerged from the trees' depths, eyes searching both the grounds and canopy for their prey.

Those dark gray eyes narrowed, a smirk crossing the handsome face as the elven male ducked lower, pulling free his bow from his shoulder, and carefully notching an arrow and sighting down one of the humans, a mage, dressed in elaborate robes of red and green.

"Keep your eyes upon the trees," the mage was saying, his accent revealing his origins as Tevinter. "Those elves are valuable."

"More so once they reach the slave pits of Minrathous," said another slaver, dressed in supple leather, two daggers sheathed upon his hips as his dark eyes scanned the area. "One of them is a mage," he continued, his eyes going to the mage by his side, who nodded an affirmative.

The elf sighted down the mage, his breathing calm, hand steady. He felt another body shift next to his and did not need to look up to know that his leader knelt beside him, ready to loose a spell once the arrow was sent flying. Eyes narrowed and he pulled is arm back, fingers flexing and releasing. As the missile flew toward the mage, the one beside him rose up to his feet, thrusting his arms out and around, in the direction of the slavers.

Confusion erupted as the missile found its mark in the throat of the mage and spiked roots erupted from the ground, ensnaring the slavers, cutting and slicing through toughened leather, deep into the soft flesh beneath. Cries of pain and surprise rose into the air as the trees about them let burst from their protective layers the very elves the group had been hunting.

It took no time at all for the Dalish band to dispatch with the Tevinter group. Smirking as he replaced his bow, the archer moved toward his leader, watching as the man brushed a long fingered hand through his unruly red hair, dark eyes scanning the area to ensure that all of the slavers were dead. Moving to his side, the archer spoke.

"Good catch today, eh Theron?" The archer pulled a hand through his dark blond hair, frowning as it caught on a tangle.

Nodding, Theron turned his dark eyes to his friend. "Not darkspawn," he said in a calm, low voice, "but almost as good."

The archer chuckled, shaking his head.

"Ah, Theron?" a young voice called out. Turning, the mage fixed his attention onto a younger elven male with pale blond hair and clear blue eyes. The younger elf, kneeling beside the body of the Tevinter mage, flinched slightly as the Dalish mage met his gaze steadily.

"Yes, Pol?" came the calm reply as the mage began to walk toward the kneeling elf.

Frowning, Pol held up a packet of papers. "Found these on the mage," he dipped his head down to indicate the corpse. "Thought…well, thought you may be interested in seeing them."

Taking the packet from the younger man's hands, Theron frowned as he studied them. Junar came up beside his friend, glancing at the papers over the taller elf's shoulder. "What are they?" the archer scowled at the parchments.

Theron's frown deepened as he studied the paperwork in his hands. "Do you know what these say, Pol?" he asked of the other archer.

"Th…they look like something official," the young elf stammered, casting his eyes to the ground.

"What are they?" Junar demanded as Theron stepped away, his eyes still fixed upon the papers.

"Directives," the mage replied, looking up to gaze first at Pol and then at Junar. "Granting these Tevinter license to steal and sell Fereldan elves," he snarled as Pol paled and Junar's face darkened with anger. "Any elves found upon Ferelden soil."

"Who…" Junar stopped, catching himself, stopping his rising anger. "Who has the right to do this!"

"Regent Loghain Mac Tir," came the prompt answer as those dark eyes continued to scan over the documents, the parchment rustling as he read each.

"That's not right," Pol whispered, staring at the papers held by his leader as though they were a venomous viper. "Elves aren't slaves…"

"_All_ flat ears are slaves!" Junar hissed, ignoring the warning look Theron flashed him. "Filthy _shem_ think that because elves live in their cities they own them! This," he waved an angry hand at the papers Theron continued to hold, "only proves it!"

"Calm yourself, Junar," Theron warned as he placed a comforting hand upon Pol's shoulder, feeling the younger city-born elf shiver beneath his touch. "Anger will not serve us at this time." He pointed toward the bodies, which remain lying upon the cold ground, a warning to any others who would pass this way. "We stopped this group. And will now be certain to stop any others we happen across."

"That won't stop them all," Junar snarled, teeth grinding.

Shaking his head, the mage replied, "That is correct. However," he met his friend's eyes with a fierce glare of his own. "any we do meet with suffer the same fate as these fools!"

Junar stood, staring at his fierce friend for many moments, feeling his rage cool as he nodded.

After another moment, Theron turned to walk away, his hands still holding the ornate staff. Turning his head toward the archer, who remained still, he said, "Come on, Junar, Pol. We've still a ways to go before we meet up with the Wardens."

Nodding, the archer turned to the other elf, one he had been mentoring for the past year, giving him a soft push forward to follow their leader. "I wonder how much longer we'll be apart from the rest of the clan." The archer sighed as he strolled to his friend's side, seeking to set aside his rage for the moment with thoughts of the clan.

The mage – taller than the archer by several inches but of a more slender build – merely shrugged his shoulders. "It will be however long it needs to be," he reminded the other, a slight smirk crossing his heavily tattooed face. "We have a duty against the Blight, and we shall see it through."

Nodding, Junar could only sigh as he picked up his strides to keep up with the longer strides of the mage. "I just miss…everyone…"

Chuckling, Theron nodded, reaching out to briefly pat the other upon a broader shoulder. "That 'everyone' wouldn't happen to be a certain doe eyed brunette? One who has, let's say, cast a spell or two upon your heart?" Behind them, Pol chuckled softly at the mage's teasing.

Shaking his head, Junar batted away Theron's hand, scowling at his friend. "Everyone knows Merrill has her heart set upon you," the archer practically snarled, not appreciating his friend's humor.

Shrugging, Theron stopped, turning to his friend. "And I have already told you that I have no interest in her." He shook his head, turning to resume his pace away from the battlefield. "Once we meet back up with our clan in the Free Marches, you need to make your intentions known."

"Easy for you to say," Junar muttered as he jogged after his friend. "You could have any female in the clan…"

"But, I don't _want_ any female from the clan," Theron reminded the other. "The woman for me…is…out there," he swept a hand outwards, indicating the world beyond the forest. "_Your_ woman is just waiting for you to get the balls to say something!"

Blinking at the coarse language from the outspoken man, Junar scowled deeper as Theron laughed, Pol adding his soft chuckle. Shaking his head, Theron pushed his friend ahead of him. "Let's go. We need to regroup and meet up with the Chasind and Wolves before the sun rises again."

DA:O

Anora's directive in hand, careful to wear her Warden's amulet on the outside of her armor, Adela frowned up at the guard, daring him with narrowed eyes to deny their access to the Alienage. The guard – a young man Adela did not recognize – frowned thoughtfully at the elven Warden. Finally, he gave a nod, ordering the gates into the slums to be opened to allow them admittance.

As the gates open, protesting loudly with creaking hinges, a heavy lump formed within the elf's throat. Taking a deep breath, she stared out at the muddy pathway leading into her former home. She gave a slight start as a hand settled upon her shoulder and Zevran bent close, a small smile upon his handsome face. Turning a gentle smile back to her friend, the elven warden gave a nod, and led her group into the elven slums.


	68. Chapter 68

_This chapter is a bit shorter than planned; but we've not through the Alienage, as you'll no doubt realize. I've had some issues – between injuring my fingers in a freak wood-meets-stove accident, and then I've been ill for the past couple of weeks. So, rather than keep it on hold as I have, I figured I'd break the chapters up for the Alienage, and putter at it as I can._

_My thanks, as always, to those who continue to lurk/read, alert, favorite and, most especially, review: Shakespira, Wyl, Arsinoe de Blassenville_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 68_

As soon as the heavy wooden gate creaked open, they could smell it. The sickly sweet, cloying odor of what was wrong in the Alienage. The guard at the gate clapped a hand over his mouth and nose, scowling at the Warden and her group, urging them in so that he could shut the gate, effectively shutting off the worst of the malignancy that permeated the elven slums beyond. It was not an overwhelming odor by any means, just a hint of what it represented drifting upon the wind and over the group. The discomfort of just knowing what that odor epitomized was enough for the group to scurry in, eyes focused upon the dirt pathway into the Alienage.

Adela's blue eyes scanned the entrance into the Alienage, frowning at memories of the crowds of elven merchants, children and gatherers that oft filtered through the Alienage to congregate near the gate filled her thoughts. Now, no one stood there, and it was obvious that, for some time now, this pathway had been abandoned. The stench of death and decay was stronger the closer to the center they walked, and even Adela's companions could feel the ill ease within; the stench upon the air was not simply of death and decay. Despair and hopelessness had made their way into the very undercurrents of the place.

Silently, eyes fixed ahead, Adela led her group deeper into the Alienage, over the crumbling wooden bridge leading over the shallow, filthy stream that flowed along the perimeter of the elven slum. She paused, blue eyes going to the door of her father's home. Her companions stood, quietly, behind her, concerned expressions upon their faces as the elf resumed her trek, leading them to the front of her home.

There was hesitation in her every movement, even as she reached her hand to the doorknob. As anxious as she was to see her father and cousins, the overriding concern and anxiety that had filled her these past few months – since Michael had warned her of the troubles those months before – took hold, paralyzing her. She almost feared what may await her beyond the door.

Quietly, Anders stepped forward, placing a large, warm hand over her own. Raising her eyes to her newest of friends, the elven warden gave the healer a weak smile and brief nod, her hand now fisting the handle tightly as she gave it a turn and pushed open the door.

The small group entered the home, passing through a short entryway and into a well-lit, warm and tidy living space. Adela's eyes skimmed over the familiar space – the door to her left that would open to the kitchen area, knowing beyond the kitchen was the doorway that led to the market place store front that her father had paid a great deal of coin for but now stood, blocked off to any from within the Alienage. Directly in front of them stood another door, one that would lead to the home's three bedrooms.

The fire was lit – the source of the light and heat within the area. A familiar rocking chair stood before the fires, and Adela frowned, noting that the chair moved almost unperceptively. Taking a step, and then another, the elf made her way to the chair's side, staring down at the figure that sat, asleep, within the curled depths of the antique piece.

Skin pale beneath a natural tan, dark circles hung beneath closed eyes, and red hair fell longer before his face, obscuring the gaunt cheeks and furrowed brow. Disquiet clenched the elven warden's heart as she stared down at her elder cousin, a hand hovering over the slumbering form, uncertainty keeping its distance just above his head.

"Soris?" Adela knelt beside the elven male, that hesitant hand now resting lightly upon one hunched shoulder, giving it a slight shake as it tightened. The male grumbled slightly, frowning in his sleep, and Adela gave another shake, gentle but firmer than the first. The grumbling grew louder and slowly, so slowly, Soris' bluest of eyes opened, blinking blearily at the young woman who knelt beside him.

"No," he whispered, his voice harsh, as though sounding through a throat unused to speech. Those blue eyes – bluer even than Adela's own – blinked again, and he startled, lurching back into the confines of the chair, his hands rising to ward off what he believed to be an unreal vision.

"No," his voice was stronger, and he glared at the woman, lips down turning into a harsh scowl. "You're dead!" he hissed between dry, cracked lips. "You're dead and everything's fallen apart!"

"Soris!" Adela leaned forward, her hand reclaiming the shoulder as the other reached around him to grasp the other. Giving him a shake, she leaned her face closer, blue eyes searching blue eyes, watching as sleep and nightmare cleared from his vision, finally focusing upon the sharp young face before him.

"Adela?" he squeaked out, launching himself forward, hands grasping his younger cousin, wrapping his arms about her slight body as her own hands fell from his shoulders to return the embrace. "We…we heard…" he gasped out, choking as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, hot tears scorching a path down his face to the soft flesh of her neck. "The…Wardens…"

"I'm here, Soris," Adela crooned raising a hand to rub the back of his head, her eyes searching out her companions, who watched on with concern clearly upon their faces. Carefully, Anders made his way to the elves, settling himself upon his heels on Soris' other side, watching for any sign that he and his healing magic would be of use.

"He's exhausted," Anders confirmed, sympathy upon his handsome face as he studied the anguished expression upon the elven male's features, the slumping of his posture and how unnaturally pale his flesh. "Emotionally, mostly."

Nodding, Adela flashed a grateful smile to her friend, adjusting herself to a more comfortable position as Soris cried himself out, clasping tighter to his cousin as she adjusted, as though in fear she would disappear should his grasp upon her falter, his hands fisting her leather armor, seeking any handhold to latch upon.

"Shhh…" she hushed at the one who had been her protector and closest friend in the Alienage. "I'm here…not all of the Wardens perished. I'm here," she kept repeating that last bit, continually rocking her cousin until finally the tears dried up, and he stiffened, finally straightening, his hands still upon her, holding her in an iron grip, his eyes searching her face.

"Cousin," he finally said, his voice clearer, his eyes shining. "You're…you're alive…" the disbelief in his soft, hoarse voice was clear as his roughened fingers rubbed along her temples. Adela offered him a soft smile as she caressed the side of his face.

"Figured that out, Cousin?" she teased lightly.

He straightened, blinking his eyes rapidly as a slow smile crossed his handsome face. Taking a breath, he turned his head, still holding Adela's face in his trembling hands, taking in those who accompanied his cousin to their home. Eyes widening, he turned his focus back to the girl.

"Are they all Wardens, too?" he asked, finally releasing his hold.

Shaking her head, Adela rose, pulling her cousin up as well. "No. There are four of us, but I'm the only Warden in this group." She pulled the taller elf along behind her and introduced him to her companions. Anders and Zevran flashed the handsome young elf bright smiles while Oghren merely grunted in his general direction.

"Soris," Adela's voice was firm and commanding, and the elder cousin found himself straightening at the tone as he turned to face her. "What is going on here in the Alienage?"

Sighing, he indicated the others to sit in the chairs surrounding the room's circular table, and then settled down himself. "It's a long story, Cousin."

A frown forming upon her face, Adela pulled a chair out and, giving it a turn, settled down facing the red head. "Seems to be the only kind I've been hearing lately."

Soris chuckled softly at that, giving a slight shake of his head. "First, you need to know that all of the trouble here did not start with…ah…" he reached up and nervously scratched at his head, glancing over at his cousin's companions before leaning forward slightly. "the wedding day."

Relief, sharp and swift, swept through Adela's body as her posture relaxed slightly. "Are you certain?"

Nodding, Soris replied, "The Captain was good to his word. He maintained patrols about the Alienage, even allowed some of what had happened to 'leak' out to the rest of the city." The elven male shrugged slightly. "With what happened at Ostagar, the Arl's son kidnapping, raping and killing a few elves, some of who managed to escape, didn't seem quite as important."

"I'm a little surprised," Zevran remarked, a slender hand to his sharp chin. "Normally, times of crisis are used as excuses for excessive displays of violence." Honey colored eyes crinkled at the corners as he forced a smile. "Especially against those who are considered weaker."

Soris merely shrugged. "We all really expected some backlash." The Alienage elf agreed with the elven assassin. "The Hahren had ordered that no elf would leave the Alienage alone, and to always remain upon the main streets of the city if they had to go out." The red head tilted his head slightly. "Kylon watched the gates constantly, and set guards he knew he could trust."

"When I spoke with Michael, months ago, he seemed to have thought the trouble started immediately…"

"No, it started about a month or so after Ostagar." Soris frowned. "Maybe Kylon had word of something else going on – I mean, we did have some violence against us, but nothing like a full scale riot or purge." Taking a deep breath, her cousin continued, "not until after Ostagar and the new Arl took up residence."

"Howe," Adela replied shortly and Soris nodded his agreement.

"Yup. Once that snake took title is when the shit came flyin' through the spokes," he ignored the pursing of his cousin's lips at his language. "Howe ordered the guards to close off the Alienage, claiming that he found 'new' evidence that elves – particularly the one who had become a Grey Warden - had actually murdered Vaughan Kendalls and he was doing so to 'protect' the innocent." Soris snorted. "He was using that bit of 'news' as another way to turn everyone against the Wardens."

"Good maneuver," Oghren supplied in his rusty voice. "Politics worthy of Orzammar herself," the dwarven warrior pounded his fist to the table, causing Soris to jump slightly in his seat. "Amazing how humans can forget just how much the Wardens do to preserve lives," the dwarf shook his head in disgust. "Bloody nughumpin' idiots."

Giving her friend a soft smile, Adela turned back to Soris. "Cousin," the red head turned his attention away from the volatile dwarf back to his cousin, "Please…"

"Oh, yeah, right," he breathed in deeply, "We never experienced a true purge," he explained, fists tightening slightly as he spoke, "but some of the guards of the two nobles who were killed alongside Kendalls were sent in to the Alienage by the families, and several elves were taken and killed," he scowled, his handsome face twisting with impotent anger. "They attacked and killed everyone – the keepers and children – within the orphanage," he clenched his eyes shut at the collective gasp that filled the room. "But the Arl sent in his own guards and routed the idiots quickly. That's when the first cases of the illness showed up."

"Illness?"

"Yeah. Some thought it was the plague. You know, with the Alienage being shut up like it was and medical help being what it was." He sighed again, looking down at his pale hands. "Hahren and Uncle could not identify the illness, but they gave what attention they could. 'Course, with our best herbalist gone," he smirked at his younger cousin, "and not being able to get out to get the medicinals we needed really hampered their efforts. That's when the Arl, in his continued generosity toward the poor elves sent in healers of his own."

"There are healers within the Alienage?" Anders asked from his corner seat.

"Yeah. But they're kinda strange," the elf turned to the human mage. "They have strange accents, and I know some of them are mages." Startling blue eyes fixed upon the mage, scanning the robes the young man wore. "You know, their robes are rather similar to the ones you're wearing."

There was a moment of silence as Adela and Anders' eyes met, a frown upon the mage's face. "Tevinters."

Soris froze, fear rushing through him. "They allowed Tevinter mages into the Alienage?" he whispered after a moment before jerking upright in his seat. Adela placed a placating hand upon his wrist and he settled back into his seat. She could feel the shaking of his body.

"Go on, Soris," Adela whispered, forcing her own concerns down. _Tevinter mages_…

"Yeah, well," he rubbed a hand through his short hair, "they set up a hospice and started taking in some of the ill. Those they cured were sent home with some medicines and instructions for bed rest and such. Others turned away at the door as not being ill. But others…"

"What?"

"Others never returned. The healers said some died, some were so sick that they needed to remain at the hospice, but others we never got word of. Usually those without family. But the really strange part was that those who disappeared in one way or another were always those with talents, or were young or pretty…" Soris' eyes met Adela's. "The ones who were cured were usually those without any real talent, were old, difficult to deal with or not particularly attractive."

"Slavers," Zevran hissed between clenched teeth, and Adela looked over to note, with surprise, the former Crow's hands clenching.

Soris turned to meet the angered elf's eyes. "That's what Shianni and I thought, but we couldn't be sure. After all, slavery in Ferelden is illegal, right?" he glanced anxiously at the others, who looked at one another and slowly nodded. "But, if these are Tevinters..." Soris' quick mind was filling in the blanks, but then he remembered he was retelling the events, and quickly resumed, "Shianni's been at the hospice near daily to try and warn others away."

"Why are _you_ _here_?" Zevran asked, not taking the trouble to keep the accusation free of his voice. The assassin kept his gaze firm upon his leader's cousin, despite the glare said leader was now casting his direction.

But Soris did not take offense. "I went with her at the beginning. But, we both started to notice that I had begun showing some symptoms." The handsome young elf shrugged. "Shianni thought that perhaps the mages had set their sights upon me, and insisted I remain out of sight. That's been, about two weeks now."

"You do look ill, Cousin," Adela remarked as she placed the back of her hand to his forehead. He was warm, but not overly. "What are your symptoms?"

Giving her a shrug, he replied, "Mostly I'm just tired. I was aching all over at first, with headaches and a cough that rattled my chest. But, once I separated myself from the scene, I've been getting better."

"Why is Shianni not ill?" Adela asked, frowning. "After all, she's pretty enough…"

"We've talked about that, too. Maybe she's too feisty, too much of a troublemaker? Or merely not stupid enough to get close enough?" he gave a self-deprecating shrug. "I did approach one of the mages…allowed him to place a hand upon me," Soris managed a weak grin. "You know my little sister…if there's trouble to cause, she'll be at the heart of it."

"But you say you've been feeling better?" Adela persisted, concern for her cousin weighing in.

"Yeah, but, there's more you need to know…" his blue eyes met and held Adela's and the elven Warden knew what he was about to say. "Uncle Cyron had become ill, prior to Shianni and I putting two and two together, and we haven't seen him in almost a month."

A feeling of dizzy fear came over her as she felt the heat leave her body. "Papae…"

"As well as Hahren Valendrian and several of the other elders." His voice softened and his gaze fell once more to his clasped hands. "They took Valora as well."

Adela paused, staring at her cousin as he continued to star down at his hands.

"Talent…" Adela said, thinking on Soris' plain looking but highly intelligent wife.

"Yeah," Soris nodded, scowling into his lap. "Just wish we had figured it out sooner." He took in a shuddering breath. "She's expecting our first child."

There was a heavy silence in the room, broken by Adela's voice.

"At least you figured it out and more than likely managed to save others," Adela remarked softly, trying to offer hope to her cousin as she reached over to pat her cousin's clenched hands gently. She felt ill herself, the thought of her father taken by slavers…Soris' wife and unborn child…giving herself a physical shake, she gripped her cousin's hands, giving him a shake. "Anything else?"

"Well, there is another strange thing going on, but I'm not sure how it's all connected."

"What is it, Cous?"

"There's a Templar," Soris rose from his seat, stepping to stand before the fireplace as he extended his hands toward the warmth. "He showed up, out of nowhere, shortly after the Arl expelled the families' guards. Don't know how he got in. But, he's been asking whether we know of any blood mages within the Alienage."

"Have you spoken with him?" Anders asked, frowning, concerned about the presence of a Templar within the Alienage.

"No," the elf shook his head. "Most of us just steered clear of him. I know Templars are a problem for mages, but we in the Alienage tend not to trust 'em either." Adela was nodding her agreement at that. Too often, the Templars would enter the Alienage, seeking renegade mages, but more often than not simply to assert their own power over the powerless elves.

"He does seem harmless, being blind like he is," Soris continued, almost as an afterthought. "He's been here for a while now, and won't leave."

"Where has he been staying?"

"Arileth's shop," the elf offered quickly. "Arileth's been letting him use the room above the shop's space. Think he was afraid to refuse him shelter."

Frowning, Adela sat silently as she took in the information. Tevinter mages being in the Alienage was her main concern. There was no doubt in her mind that these were slavers. What concerned her was the fact that the current Arl of Denerim had allowed them within the gates of the elven community.

_What was Howe about_?

Sighing, Adela rose. "Anders," the mage looked up. "Please, would you check Soris over again for me before we leave?"

"Certainly, Adela," the human mage rose, stepping to the elven male's side, hands glowing blue with his healing power. Soris did not flinch, but allowed the other man to skim his hands over his form.

"He's fine, Adela," Anders remarked, "Perhaps a little anemic which would explain why he's so tired. He just needs to eat and get plenty of rest."

Looking down at her seated cousin, Adela replied in a stern tone everyone within the room – including her elder cousin – was well used to, "See to it, Cousin. I want you well."

Chuckling softly, feeling as though things would be alright now that his cousin was home where she belonged, Soris rose and went off to the kitchen as Adela and her companions left the house to search out Adela's younger cousin and the hospice.

DA:O

Adela led her group from her home, passing by few lingering elves, most of whom recognized their wayward sister, others who merely ignored their presence altogether. As they walked, they came upon the desiccated building that had once been the orphanage. Adela stopped, turning to face the blank façade of the old building, taking note of the blackened wood, the front door having been boarded shut, and a notice proclaiming that the elves were forbidden to carry any weapons upon their person. Scowling, she leaned in, reaching over with one slender hand to rip the offending parchment from the ruin front.

"This is new," she scowled at the paper, crumpling it before tossing it to the ground.

As if the elves needed written confirmation of their lowly status…

Yet, she lingered, staring at the building, the feeling of dread and fear and absolute horror filling her senses. In her mind, she could almost hear the screams of the children and their guardians within, feel the heat from the licking flames that engulfed a great portion of the once solid structure. Something remained…she turned toward Anders, who had moved from the back of the pack to stand beside her, his golden brown eyes squinting with concern.

"You feel it, too?" she asked of her mage friend, who merely nodded his blond head in confirmation. "What is it?"

Frowning, he turned, staring down at her. "Certainly you can feel it," he prompted, "the thinning of the Veil."

"Because of the violence done within," Adela offered without hesitation, and the mage again nodded his head.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to remove her hand from the wooden door, and then to step back and away. She promised those who had died within that they would take the time – later – to investigate. But, for now, they had to see to the living.


	69. Chapter 69

_Ah ha….okay, so this chapter is shorter than I had want it to be. Like the previous chapter, I chopped it so that I could post. RL is really taking its toll on me, so I figured better to get something out there sooner rather than later (there's a really good excuse...I'm certain)._

_My thanks, as always, to those who read, lurk and alert this story. My most grateful thanks to those who review: Wyl, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville, ffspice (new reviewer!), Hitchisuki-Hime (another new reviewer! Woot!)_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 69_

Voices were raised – some in anger, others in derision, while still others merely weary, trying to be heard over the din – directing the Warden and her group to where a group of elves faced off against other elves, a smaller group of humans standing by the extra space just off Alarith's storefront.

And in the center of it all, stood Adela's younger cousin, Shianni. Her red hair glinted in the sun with each movement, hanging loosely about her shoulders as her strong alto penetrated through the din of those gathered nearby, dragging their attention to her whether the speakers and bystanders wished it or not. That was Shianni's charm – no one, no matter had hard they tried, could ignore the brash young woman once her hackles were raised.

And it seemed that, as per the norm for the volatile young woman, her hackles were raised – and had been so for a very long time, if the tired expression and dark circles beneath her normally warm brown eyes were any indication.

There were those who stood shoulder to shoulder alongside the redhead. Adela was not surprised to see Naomi among those who glared at the elves standing before the makeshift hospice just beyond the shop, guarded by humans garbed in armor unfamiliar to the young Warden. A tall male elf, Taeodor, stood nearby, his thoughtful gaze fixed upon the door of the hospice. Seeing Elva beside Shianni, however, was a surprise to the young Warden.

"Somehow I just knew that, if there was trouble, you would be smack in the center of it all," Adela drawled, folding her arms across her chest as her words drifted to the ears of her younger cousin. Those tired brown eyes widened and the fiery redhead turned, those orbs fixing upon the diminutive figure of the leather clad elven woman not far from her own position.

Everyone else within Shianni's sphere quieted as well, watching as the redhead took one hesitant step forward, then broke out into a quick trot to grab her wayward and presumed dead cousin into a tight, bone jarring embrace.

"Adela!" the younger woman breathed, clinging to the blonde elf, hands locking behind Adela's back in an attempt to not loose hold of the vision Shianni was certain she was holding onto.

Struggling slightly, smirking widely, Adela brought her arms around her larger cousin, hugging her back tightly as she shifted ever so slightly, seeking to loosen the bear hug she was encompassed within.

"You're supposed to be dead," Shianni murmured, tightening her hold as she felt her cousin struggle to get loose.

"I keep being told that," grinning with a tilt of her head, she continued, "but the rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated," Adela whispered, giving up on gaining the freedom she sought, reluctantly relaxing in Shianni's hold, understanding the other woman's need for that tactile assurance that what she held was not a vision. "And, you know how rumor can be…"

Chuckling, her movements shaking both women, Shianni finally relaxed her death grip to peer into Adela's worn face. "Yeah, half lie, half worthless wishes, with a spattering of the truth mixed in."

"As you can see," mischief twinkled in Adela's blue eyes, and finally Shianni released her, taking a bare step back to remain within her elder cousin's personal space.

"I spoke with Soris," Adela's voice was soft as she watched Naomi and Elva, followed by the few others she had never really gotten to know, form a semi-protective circle around the cousins, as though seeking to keep their existence from being known to the humans that guarded the exterior of the door into the hospice. Shianni's face dropped further at the mention of her brother and Adela placed a hand upon the other's arm. "We'll figure this out," the warden promised, hardly flinching at her own words.

"Let's hope so," Shianni murmured, doing her best to offer up her familiar smirk, realizing how miserably she failed.

"Idiots keep lining up, though," Elva interrupted, frowning petulantly at the elven Warden. "They don't even consider how many vanish in the hospice as opposed to how many actually leave…"

"Or who the ones that get to leave are," Naomi piped in, her soft voice floating between the groups.

Adela nodded, frowning deeply as she recalled the conversation she had with Soris. Lifting her head, the elf eyed first the guards and then the door. Glancing down at herself, she reached up, carefully tucking in her amulet with the Warden insignia engraved upon it. Glancing at the others, she tilted her head, indicating they step forward.

"I want you guys to disappear a bit," the warden instructed her companions, each of whom frowned deeply at the woman, "except for you, Zev. You're coming in with me."

"What do you mean by that, my Warden?" Zevran asked, his curiosity overriding his own good sense about sending away their strongest fighter and healer.

"You and I are going to get inside the hospice," she said, her gaze settling back to the doorway. "If Soris and Shianni are correct, they would gladly welcome the two of us within." Her blue eyes settled back upon the handsome elven male.

"Ah, I see," the assassin drawled as he pulled free his sword and handed it over to Anders, who held the bladed weapon almost gingerly in his hands.

As Adela pulled her bow and quiver free of her shoulders, handing them to Oghren, the mage spoke up. "Now wait just a minute, Adela," the elf lifted her eyes, blonde brows quirking upwards at the near petulant tone in the mage's voice. "You really expect us to just let you and Zevran walk into that den unarmed?"

"We won't be unarmed," Adela smirked, turning as Zevran pulled free a small blade from one boot, and then a second longer dirk from beneath his armor. "And I have a blade or two hidden as well." She bent to pull a dagger free of her boot sheath. "See? We should be fine."

"Ah, in case you have forgotten," Anders persisted, "you're a far better archer than melee fighter."

Sighing, Adela straightened. "I can handle myself with a blade," her own tone weary, eyes narrowing. "Besides, it's not as though we can enter fully armed like we are. I hate the notion of trying to enter wearing armor, but hopefully that won't deter their greed overly much."

Anders glared at the young elf for a few minutes, certain that what she and Zevran planned was a very bad idea. Oghren chuckled darkly, shaking his redhead. "You really want us t'have to tell the Pike Twirler you went into enemy territory nearly unarmed and undermanned?"

Sighing as she pressed fingers to her forehead, Adela turned to her dwarven friend. "I really wish you would not call Alistair that, Oghren."

"Yeah, well, wishes in one hand and shit 'n the other, see which fills up first," the dwarf shot back, a smirk crossing his craggy features.

"Besides," Adela pressed, ignoring the dwarf's comment, "Zev and I will be fine. We go in, find out what's going on in there, and get out. You guys," she pointed to the mage and dwarf, "be ready out here in case they," she pointed toward the guards, "get any ideas."

Anders' attention went back to those guarding the exterior of the building. "You do realize that two of those guards are mages, right?" he asked as he looked back to the elf.

"That's why you two are going to be ready to stop them should they get any bright ideas," the cheerful tone in Adela's voice did little to appease the growing unease that settled in the blond mage's chest.

However, he chose not to argue with the girl any further. He knew well how stubborn Adela could be. And, given the current circumstances, he had to agree – the guards would most likely allow the two elves in, but not elves accompanied by a human and a dwarf.

Not if what they thought was going on was, indeed, going on.

Shaking his head, he growled to himself. "Sometimes I wonder just what I got myself into when I agreed to join up with you and your merry band of misfits," the mage groused, soft brown eyes narrowed at the humor that crossed the elven warden's face.

"You'd be bored out of your mind, Anders," Adela patted his arm before straightening her armor, "and you know it."

"Or happily back in solitary in the Tower basement," Anders muttered, earning a careful glance from the elven woman. Inwardly he groaned; he had not meant to worry the young woman and so flashed what he hoped was a disarming smile.

After another glance at the mage, Adela turned back to offer a few more words to her cousin as both Anders and Oghren proceeded to make themselves scarce.

Adela and Zevran moved to step away from the group, but Shianni's restraining arm caused the elven woman to pause. Looking up into her cousin's concerned eyes, she waited. "Be careful, Cousin," Shianni's voice was soft, concern filled. "We just got you back."

Smiling in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, Adela gently patted her cousin's hand before pulling away. With a tilt of her head, indicating that Zevran was to follow, the elven warden stepped toward the humans.

DA:O

_The red haired trouble maker and her followers were back. _Without even looking up, the Tevinter mage was fully aware of the troublesome group that, as it did every day, stood just beyond the perimeter of their hospice. Hague sighed deeply as his brown eyes skimmed over the various groups of elves that seemed to be permanently stationed outside of the hospice, skimming quickly over the ever familiar forms of the elven women and men that stood around the redheaded spit fire. With her pale skin, delicate, sharp features and fiery hair, the girl would have been perfect for sending off to the Imperium. However, her troublesome manner and acerbic tongue made taking her complicated. Now, had they been within the boundaries of any of the Imperium's territories, her sharp temperament would simply be…realigned prior to shipment. Here, however, in this backwater country...

His thoughts trailed off as his eyes settled upon a pair of fair skinned and hair elves made their way around the troublemakers toward them.

The female was, quite frankly, perhaps the prettiest, most delicate looking female he had seen in the alienage to date. Yet, her tanned skin and sun-kissed blonde hair bespoke of a great deal of time out of doors. As she neared, he took note of the dark circles under cerulean eyes.

Scrutiny shifted to the slightly taller male that strolled by her side. Honey blond hair hung to his shoulders, and he, too, sported tanned skin. The tattoo upon his right cheek did nothing to deter from the natural beauty of the man, and Hague once again found himself enthralled with the natural beauty the elven people possessed. Truly, despite the fact that the two approaching did not maintain the alabaster flesh most preferred in the delicate seeming race, they were perhaps the prettiest pair he had seen in some time.

Shifting his face, he assumed a mask of concern as he hurriedly stepped forward, his hands rising to encompass the pair. "My dears! How long have you been ill?" He asked, lacing his voice with the proper amount of concern. He noticed their brow scrunch slightly, a frown forming upon the female's full lipped mouth, but it was the male that spoke.

"I, Ser, feel somewhat tired," he spoke with an Antivan accent, "whilst my darling sister here has been complaining of a rather persistent fatigue."

Hague forced down his smile as he shuffled the pair toward the door leading into the hospice. "Please, please…you must get inside to see one of our physicians! Your symptoms do not sound threatening at this time, however, should you wait too long…"

"Si," the male responded as he placed a hand to his 'sister's' back, "I worry so for my little Dulcinea."

"As well you should," Hague smirked slightly as he looked down upon the girl's pretty features. "Such a lovely sister you have, to be concerned for."

"Ah, indeed," the male continued as a guard opened the door for them, "'Tis a hardship indeed keeping this one well and cared for. But, alas," he placed a hand over his heart, "but, what else are big brothers for, eh?"

Chuckling, Hague waved the pair inside, watching as the door closed behind the pair. Already, his quick mind was counting the coin that pair would bring in.

DA:O

"Did you really have to overdue the whole 'big brother' act?" Adela muttered between clenched teeth as they were escorted into the main room of the 'hospice'.

Chuckling beside her, Zevran reached down and grasped one of Adela's much smaller hands in his. "_Tsk, tsk_," he chuckled again, "I did it to keep him from speaking directly to you, my dearest little sister," he bent slightly to kiss her hand, grinning up at the guard who turned to look at the pair. Lowering his voice more, Zevran bent further down to Adela. "You know you couldn't lie to save your own life, let alone those within the Alienage."

The Warden glared at her friend as she allowed herself to be led deeper into the building. Turning her attention from her grinning friend, her blue eyes scanned over the area. "Doesn't really look much like a hospice, does it?" she asked, her voice still quite low.

Zevran shook his head, not saying a word, as he straightened. Adela recognized the assassin's movements for what they were: he was preparing himself for a fight. With nervous quickness, the elven warden took in the area – notably counting out how many guards stood within the chamber. Six, including a man dressed in robes.

The Antivan glanced down at his companion, taking note that she was taking in the scene before them. Nodding slightly, he continued to follow the lone guardsman who led them to the mage.

The mage was young, that much was perfectly clear to the former Crow. Pale blond hair flowed in riotous waves around his face while dark blue eyes peered from a face far too young and pale to be so far from home. Ink stained fingers brushed along the edges of the desk beside him, and Zevran realized that this young mage was perhaps barely out of apprenticeship; most likely a scribe.

Still, a mage was a mage, and the assassin braced himself mentally to take the young one out of the fight first.

Beside him, he could feel the tension flow from Adela as she, too, took stock of those within the room. Normally, facing a mere half dozen opponents would not deter the elder elf, however, as their companions had pointed out previously, hand to hand combat was not the female's strong suit. Honey brown eyes lifted once more to stare at the mage, affecting just the right amount of awe and wonder to put the young human at ease, even permitting a slight cocky smirk to grace his youthful features.

_Ah, to be young and foolish_…the elven assassin mused as the pair of elves neared the mage, hands already straying to hidden blades.

They had to dispatch with the Tevinters quickly and as quietly as possible in order to affect a careful search of the premises before those without realized anything else was afoot than the mere acquisition of a pair of pretty elves.

In one fluid movement, Zevran had his blade bared and slicing through the air, slashing across the throat of the young mage, spraying the Tevinter's life blood in the air. Grateful yet again for the numerous runes young Sandal had embedded within the blade – including one particularly effective against spellcasters – the elven assassin turned, ducking down to pull free a second blade from one of his boots, spinning a circuit as he rose up behind an approaching soldier, driving both blades into the man's back – one into a kidney, the other directly into the spine, severing the bone. With a screech, the guardsman fell in a writing heap beside the mage who bled out upon the floor.

Thankful for her companion's quickness, Adela dropped to the ground, pulling the blades free of their boot sheaths. Scuttling across the floor, she kicked out at the knee of an oncoming warrior, the heel of her boot connecting solidly to smash the thin bone. Grunting out in pain, the warrior remained upon his feet, slashing downwards at the elf, not caring at this point over the lost profits in his intent to kill her.

Frowning, Adela leaped to her feet, dancing away from the slashing blade as she ducked, spinning slightly to the man's side, slashing out with both daggers. A wave of blood followed the path of the blades, and the warrior growled out his pain, hopping around on his uninjured leg as he slashed out again, albeit weakly, to try and catch the elf. With a shake of her head, Adela ducked down, stepping just behind the man, to stab both blades into his right side, the long blades of the daggers slicing through flesh and muscle, arcing upward to pierce a lung. Gasping, the man fell, and Adela bent slightly to offer a killing slash to the man's throat before righting herself to face another foe.

Any concern Zevran felt for Adela's presence within a hand to hand battle were quickly dispelled as he watched the young warden dance and spin around the floor, easily dodging the clumsy swings of the human warriors. Her battle with the first guardsman had, in his opinion, taken far too long, and he made a mental note to teach the girl how best to take out an opponent quickly and effectively. He grinned at the thought of the girl counteroffering to teach him how to hold a bow more effectively.

Still, in a matter of minutes, the mage and guardsmen lay upon the blood soaked floor in various positions. All quite dead. The former Crow glanced over at Adela, who was bent over the body of the mage, searching through the numerous pockets and pouches strapped along the mage's robes. Zevran decided that he would not bring to her attention that she took out two of their foes to his four.

"Ah ha," Adela murmured in triumph as she pulled free a brass key from one of the pouches. Zevran grinned down at her as he paced to the desk, shuffling through the paperwork and other piles placed neatly thereupon. A frown crossed his face as he pulled free what appeared to be a ledger, detailing the elves that had been brought to the hospice over the previous months.

Rising, Adela joined the other elf by the desk, her blue eyes scanning over the neat writing. _Unfortunately_…"I can't read Tevinter," she growled softly, "can you?"

Shaking his head, Zevran took the list and tucked it securely into an abandoned pouch and then secured it to his belt. "I cannot," he admitted aloud, eyes drifting to a door nearest them. "I would imagine that either of our Circle trained mages could well decipher this for us, perchance?"

Nodding, Adela brandished the key she had secured from the mage that lay dead at her feet and made her way to the door opposite the desk. Relief flowed through her as it fit the keyhole and she gave a turn, unlocking the door with an audible '_click'_.

The door opened with a soft creak, opening to mere inches without a push. Low voices could be heard emanate from the room beyond and both elves glanced at one another, blades held at the ready in hand. Zevran pushed the door open further and stepped back to allow Adela to step in first.

Cages lined the walls, packed full with elves of all ages. So fully packed were the cages that those that could not stand crouched upon the filthy floors, usually with one hand pressed to the floor to keep their balance with the other held up to prevent those standing above them from stepping upon them. A low grumble to her side brought Adela's attention to her companion, and she nearly gasped at the naked anger that appeared upon the normally unflappable elf's handsome face. She recalled a conversation with Zevran as he spoke to her of his earlier days as a slave. Glancing around at those enclosed within the cold metal cages, she found it difficult to picture a child Zevran so helpless and despairing.

Of course, time changes every fortune. Adela herself was proof of such a thing.

Pausing, she half turned, twisting her head to look at her friend. "You alright?" she asked in a low voice, fully aware that the elves within the cages had gone silent upon the entrance of the pair. Zevran met her gaze fully, his full lips twisting into a smirk.

"Why, of course, My Warden," he purred smoothly, brushing by her as she turned back toward the room. "Come. Let us see what is to be seen, yes?"

Frowning, Adela stepped fully into the room, stifling the gag reflex at the stale air. The elves had been cared for on a superficial level: they appeared fairly clean, and the air's staleness came from a lack of ventilation, and not from poor hygiene. Carefully, the pair of elven rogues went over to separate cages, carefully checking over the locking mechanisms. Those within the cage Zevran bent forward, breaths held, as they watched the elven male with a mixture of apprehension and hope.

Those within the case Adela had stepped to appeared to immediately recognize their missing daughter, and pressed forward, hands clasping eagerly at the bars, breath held, as the girl worked the lock to release those imprisoned within.

Adela was amazed – and rather proud – that those within the cages, save for a cage filled with children, had managed to remain silent as she and Zevran worked the locks. Despite having killed all of the Tevinters within the building, there still stood almost a dozen of them – including at least two elder mages – just beyond the front door.

And neither knew if those were all of the Tevinters within the vicinity of the 'hospice' or if more skulked about.

As the last of the cage doors were pulled open, the elves surged forward, whispering out questions, asking about loved ones or the Blight, fewer asking about Adela herself and her companion, and were they there to stop the slavers.

Letting the words flow over her, Adela's blue eyes skimmed the crowd, looking for more familiar faces. She knew many of those within the room – more passing acquaintances, none friends or family. The children had been slower emerging from their cage, and the young woman took note of a tall, masculine form, bent over the smaller elves as they crowded around him, many crying and seeking comfort and refuge within his arms and personal space.

A frown furrowed her brow, and Adela stepped away from the clutching hands and anxious words, twisting and slipping through the crowd of the few dozen elves they had just freed from their cages. At her approach, several of the smaller children squeaked in fear before fixing their eyes upon their rescuer. Giving them a small, comforting smile, the elven warden stepped closer, eyes fixed upon the bent head of ragged blond hair that fell in dirty waves across the man's shoulders, curtaining off his face.

That head lifted slightly, tilting, still framed and shadowed by the heavy fall of hair. Adela's movements ceased as the feeling that she knew this man swept over her. The small movements he made seemed familiar, as did the broad shoulders and large hands that now held the quivering children to him, shielding them from any further threat. Taking a breath, Adela knelt down, smiling at one small child, turning her face to watch as the male elf turned more fully to her.

There was a tightening in her chest and the very breath from her lungs seemed heavy and thick as dark blue eyes fixed upon her own, recognition crossing the handsome but bedraggled face just mere feet in front of her.

Swallowing past a thick throat, Adela inched nearer, a hand rising to brush the oily strands of blond hair from the male's gaunt face.

"Nelaros?"

DA:O

They had been inside for some time, and both Anders and Oghren were starting to become worried. Stepping from the shadowed area behind the building, the pair watched as the dozen or so guards and their mage handlers continued to glare at the various groups of elves.

"Have you noticed how any pretense of care seems to have gone out the window?" Anders asked of his dwarven companion, his brown eyes fixed upon the mages – blood mages, he was certain – that stood mere feet from the front door.

"Hrumph!" Oghren growled out, green eyes narrowing. "No need to get your panties in a bunch yet, mage," the dwarven warrior bit out, eyes shifting to glare at the human. "Them two elves can handle themselves pretty good. For bein' so skinny, that is."

"Still," Anders said as he stepped closer, "I think that if we spot any of those try to enter…"

"Way ahead of ya, blondie," Oghren smirked. "If any of 'em there tries to get inside, we just gotta stop 'em, jes as the lassie said." He turned to fully face the mage. "Got it."

Nodding, Anders' gaze shifted to watch as Shianni spot final words to her companions before turning in their direction. "I think Shianni's coming this way," Anders remarked, watching as the elven girl confidentally headed in their direction.

Oghren chuckled. "Got's a lot of spit and fire that one," he remarked, casting an admiring glance at the approaching elf. "Must be the hair color."

Shaking his head, Anders frowned. "Hair color has nothing to do with it," the mage replied. "Did a study on that once back at the tower. Besides, Adela's has plenty of fire and she's a sunbeam."

Scoffing, Oghren turned slightly toward the human. "Yeah, but she's more controlled and doesn't have that killer instinct," he pounded himself at the chest with one fist. "That one," he pointed a gnarled finger at the quickly approaching girl. "she's a real firecracker. Adela'd do well to get her to be a warden."

At that comment, Anders frowned, shaking his head. "I doubt she would, Oghren. Haven't you noticed her…reluctance to induct new Wardens?"

Oghren's reply was a scowl, but he voiced nothing as Shianni approached.

"I'm getting worried," the elven girl muttered as she approached the pair, perfectly echoing their own concern.

"Don't worry," Anders replied in his perfected 'healer' voice. "Zevran's practically in his element."

"And Adela?" Shianni could not help but ask, still having a difficult time acquainting her quiet, gentle cousin with the warden they sent inside.

Here the dwarf chuckled at the girl's ill ease. "Lassie there can handle her own, girlie," he shifted his stance slightly, twitching his shoulders to adjust his heavy war axe that hung down his back. "She's fought darkspawn, demons and worse. A few mamby-pamby mages ain't gonna ruffle her feathers much."

Blanching at the thought of Adela fighting such monster, Shianni turned to stare at the doors to the hospice. Biting at her lip, she turned back. "Do you think that perhaps we should…even the odds for them a bit?"

Brow furrowing, Anders frowned. "How do you mean?"

"She means we take out them there Tevints that are jes' standin' about, 's'what she means!" Oghren spat.

"Wouldn't that just bring unwanted attention to Adela and Zev?" Anders was concerned. "Adela's orders were…"

Spitting, Oghren snarled out, "I see an obstacle, magey," Oghren muttered darkly. "An' I say we gots to remove that obstacle…"

"Think about it," Shianni offered, surprised that she was making such a suggestion. "If Adela and Zevran find something inside, how are they going to be able to leave, knowing that there's an army of Tevinter guardsmen and mages just outside the doors?"

"But, Adela was very specific that we remain out of sight…" Anders continued to argue even as the dwarf pulled his axe free of its holster.

"Even the lass can't always think of everything," the dwarven warrior growled out, a feral gleam in his eyes. "I say we clear the path for their escape." He ignored Anders' continued sputtering, turning toward the elven girl. "Yo, girl," Shianni frowned slightly at the address, "you an' yours gots any weapons?"

"Knives and perhaps a bow or two?" She sounded uncertain.

Nodding, Oghren began to push her away, "Good. Get them and ready 'em. We're gonna clear a path."


	70. Chapter 70

_I apologize for the long absence and leaving this story rather up in the air. RL and other crap keeps hitting me down. I've also discovered Mass Effect and that's been a rather interesting experience for me gameplaying wise (I do not play shooters!). I also discovered a strange source of inspiration: Snow Patrol's __**A Hundred Million Suns**__. Wonderfully inspiring album that really hit the gambit of emotional reach for me and helped me to complete this exhausting chapter. I will try my best to get the next chapters up without making you wait another three to four months!_

_As always, my thanks to those who continue to follow my stories, take the time to review, or simply put it on their alerts/favorites. _

_DragonAge: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 70_

"Now this here s'more like it!" Oghren growled out with great enthusiasm as his great axe swept out toward the onrushing guardsman. Neatly relieving the human of both sword and hand, the grinning dwarf chuckled aloud – manically - stepping forward forcibly with one foot as he reared the blade back and brought it over his shoulder, cleaving the screaming man nearly in two from stem to stern.

Without watching the finality of the destruction of the human life before him, the dwarven warrior spun about, eagerly looking for another to satiate his desire for blood.

Shaking his head, the Spirit Healer cast out with a healing spell to the dwarf, who was unaware of the multitudes of wounds that covered his body as he let the berserker battle rite sweep over himself. Certain the fool dwarf would remain standing for a while longer, the mage turned about, arms out as fingers spread, flames bursting from outspread fingertips to engulf a nearby mage in penetrating heat. Swallowing past the bile that rose in his throat at the pained screams that erupted from the foe mage's throat, Anders continued the gout of fire until the writhing form blackened and crumpled to lay, unmoving, upon the ground.

He could hear Oghren chuckling somewhere from the battlefield, but the tenderhearted mage tried to ignore the grating sound. Sending out a cleansing aura, he stripped the final mage of mana before then casting his form into an impenetrable casing of ice. Breathing hard, feeling light headed and dizzy from the amount of spell casting he had to perform, he pulled in his remaining stores of mana and shot out with his fist, watching as a fist of stone shot from his clenched hand, growing in size and power, to finally smash into the frozen form of the mage, shattering it into many small pieces. He turned away, not wishing to watch as those pieces melted, showing the bloody and gory remains of such a devastating spell.

If only he could ignore the maniacal cackling that came from his berserker companion, and things would be far more manageable for the mage.

DA:O

The waiting would be the death of him.

Okay, perhaps he was being a bit melodramatic. But, the clenching in his chest and tightness of his throat made it _feel_ like he could very well be. Not knowing what was going on in the Alienage with Adela and the others was a cause of great stress for the young human.

Not to mention how everyone seemed to be stepping on eggshells around him.

He would pointedly ignore the almost sympathetic glances his companions would cast in his direction as he would pace about the spacious townhome of the Arl. Although he did allow himself the luxury of casting his own glare toward the red haired Warden, who was currently working with almost feverish intent on instructing the Arl's guardsmen on how to fight against darkspawn.

Had Roland only behaved and followed orders, it was possible Adela would have allowed him to come along on the mission.

The thought stopped him in his steps, head flopping down to hang, chin to chest, as he let loose a deep sigh that spoke clearly of all of the frustration currently residing within that broad chest. _Who was he kidding_? She would still have left him behind – _again_ - her reasoning sound even as he _still_ tried to argue against it, despite her current absence in the argument. Even in a one-sided dispute he still couldn't win. Left behind to wait for word either from the scouting Riordan, the still shadow-cloaked allies they had within Denerim itself, or for the elf to show up in person to advise him of the goings on in the Alienage. And all he could do was wait.

Wait.

It was almost too much for his nerves to handle, but even as emotionally strung out as he was, he could not even consider taking up his blade and perhaps pummeling his fellow Warden into the ground.

Much as he would like to.

Yeah, Roland lying bloody and bashed upon the stone floor of the training grounds would definitely make him feel a bit better for having managed to release some of the frustration he felt. But, then again, beating him to a pulp would mean one of the mages would have to heal him to make him battle-ready for the Landsmeet (and no one was going to convince him they did not need to be battle-ready. Everything – every single step – they had won was due to hard battle. He wouldn't hear otherwise from anyone). And annoying the mages at this point really was not high on his list of priorities.

Although beating Roland Gilmore remained high on that list. Perhaps after this political shit storm had been dealt with…

With another sigh he straightened, shaking his blond head, feeling the weight of the short ponytail brush against the back of his neck (he had decided to keep his hair long…he knew Adela liked it…), his steps taking him to the study, where he knew that Eamon waited.

Oh joy.

Alistair really did not want to spend any more time with the Arl. Ever since Adela's departure, the Arl had been, well, rather attentive to the young Warden. Alistair was not the fool others tended to mantle him with. He knew that Eamon was still jockeying for the bastard Therrin to try and take the throne from Anora. His thoughts went briefly to the widow of his half-brother and he gave a weary shake of his head.

The Queen had not left her chambers since arriving at the estate, her face taut with worry and concern, eyes dry – too dry – and tight. It was perhaps the smartest thing she could have done at the moment, remaining out of Eamon's direct line of vision. The woman had gone from one viper's nest straight to another.

That thought did not even cause a hesitation in his step as he made his way to the upstairs study.

DA:O

Tension eased down and across her shoulders as she shifted, lifting one delicate hand to carefully leaf through the worn pages of the ancient treatise. A scowl formed between well-manicured brows as pale eyes focused upon the neat, delicate writing upon the pages. As she raised her fingers to yet again turn the pages, she paused, lifting her raven head, turning slightly to stare at the door to her room.

There it was, the familiar tingle that wafted and drifted along the air, signifying that the Veil had been opened…thinned…around the Fade. Something had passed through. Testing out its power within the realm of the living and sleepless. Rising, the young witch carefully marked the pages (she was not in the mood to have to search through the boring ledges of protocol and pomp that consisted of the Landsmeet again), turning to step to the door, pressing her ear to the cool, dead wood.

Yes, there it was…the almost addictive feel of the Fade seeping through the ancient wood, sweeping around the apostate in an almost tantalizing dance as she placed one hand to the brass doorknob, dark head tilted downwards as she breathed in the very power that danced along her nerves and skin. The feel of the magic utilized did not feel familiar to the wild mage…she could not tell if Wynne or Niall had employed their art for one reason or another. It felt almost as though the magic wielder was trying to hide the fact magic was being employed.

Frowning delicately, Morrigan turned the knob, pulling the door open to stare out into the adjacent hallway. Several yards away stood Alistair and the Arl, the elder man's prematurely aged face turned to the younger, hidden from Morrigan's view. She could see, however, the look of confusion upon Alistair's face (she mentally snorted at that observation. Confusion being one of Alistair's more natural states). But the feeling persisted for a moment longer before snuffing out completely, as though it had not been present.

Her frown deepening into confusion, the mage watched as the pair of men continued with their conversation, the words unattainable but the definite vagueness of Alistair's own tone incredibly real, for another moment before stepping back into the room.

Confused by the occurrence, the mage stepped back to the table where lay the books she had been searching through, scowling down at the many tomes she had collected. Although she and the others felt that they were more than prepared for the Landsmeet, Arl Eamon had insisted that they continue to study through the various texts. He had indicated, in that condescending manner that seemed reserved solely for the use of nobles, that any information on previous Landsmeets where the normal protocol and roll would not necessarily be observed. And so, the three mages and their local bard had spent an almost inexhaustible amount of time with their eyes and fingers glued to the various tomes of the past two decades, searching out anything that could possibly come close to what they were facing now. Until finally, encouraged by the young Teyrn of Highever, the others had abandoned the search, feeling as prepared as they ever could be for such an event. Morrigan, stubborn, remained behind, glaring at the tombs as though they had offered her a personal insult.

Scoffing, Morrigan finally pushed the books away, thoroughly disgusted with their waste of time, anger at the Arl flooding her breast as she lifted her head from the books. Glaring at the door, she cast through it her displeasure. Never mind the Arl, she hoped the full force and fury of her displeasure landed fully upon the broad shoulders of the young man standing beyond.

Time was passing too quickly. Adela and the others were still lost somewhere within the confines of the elven alienage, and no one had heard word one from the group. Everyone was on edge due to the fact that their leader was absent and that the responsibility of keeping up and making certain they were prepared for the Landsmeet – now only three days away – had been placed upon Alistair's shoulders. Pressing delicate fingers to her forehead in an attempt to push away the burgeoning headache (for once, the witch wished she had even a tenth of the healing power of Wynne at her disposal), Morrigan cursed the spirits of the Fade with vehemence.

And with that acknowledgment to herself of time passing, she realized just how soon she may be making yet another decision…another action that could well remove her from the group she had come to…care for in an almost familial fashion.

Certainly, there were those within their ever growing yet still somehow tight knit group of misfits that she was not as close as others: she still felt that Adela had made a grave mistake marrying the foolish ex-Templar, despite how much he doted upon the pretty little elf. Wynne, with her condescending grandmotherly manners, her declarations of how much of an affinity she had to the Fade (she was a mage! All mages were thusly affined!) still rankled heavily upon the acerbic witch's nerves.

The others all had their own special ability to irk the former wilder witch, even Adela at times caused the young mage no end of irritation with her overly tenderhearted tendencies. However, the thought of what she had to do to ensure…her thoughts paused there, knowing the truth for what it was, knowing that the ritual she had to embark upon had nothing to do with any wishes for the continued health and wellbeing of any of the Grey Wardens she currently travelled with.

Now, perhaps, the need…the consequences surrounding the use of the ritual may be less selfish; however, that most certainly was not how it had started.

And Morrigan was self-aware enough to know that whatever excuses she may use to sway Adela to convince one of the male wardens to participate; the truth was, first and foremost, that Morrigan needed this ritual, more so now than ever, if she were to fend off her mother.

Those yellow, predator-like eyes fixed once more upon the door. At least she would no longer need to use Alistair – the husband of the girl who was perhaps her best friend – for the ritual's completion.

DA:O

Blue eyes fixed upon tired blues as Nelaros shifted uneasily beneath the intense gaze. He stared as well, at the still lovely but tired etched features before him. The misery that had settled within those eyes was more painful than any of the tortures he had suffered at the hands of the blond blood mage these months passed.

"Why are you still here?" Adela had asked as she led her group through the Alienage as they continued their search for the slavers. The young elven male had flinched. Not that there had been any accusatory tone within her voice. Far from it. The void that had settled within a voice he recalled as being sweet and quiet was far more unsettling than any accusation the younger elf could ever have heaped upon him could be.

It had made it all far worse for the fact that he did not know why he had not been packed and shipped off with the multitudes of elves that had been paraded through the Alienage and to the waiting Tevinter ships, en route to the slave markets of Minrathous and the other vast cities within the Imperium.

Every question he had asked of Caladrius as to why he yet remained had only ever been met with a calm eye, slight smirk and quick glance to the elven children caged around them and a firm and confident acknowledgment that Nelaros' 'master' would be patient for a bit longer until he had delivered the elf to him personally.

By now, Adela was fully aware that her father had been sent away on one of those vessels. And Nelaros had had to watch as what little light that had reflected within those marvelous blue orbs dulled and vanished completely.

They had reunited with Oghren and Anders, who had dispatched with those who guarded the entrance to the 'hospice'. Despite being worn and weakened by his imprisonment, Nelaros had insisted upon accompanying Adela and her companions and he was grateful that the others had seen fit to argue the young elf into allowing him to do so. And so he had picked up a fine Imperial saw-blade and round shield and followed the Warden and her companions.

There were many small skirmishes as they fought against those humans who profited by the sale of others until they now stood within a small space, facing off against a woman who appeared to be Dalish – if the facial tattoo was anything to go by – scoffing at Adela's naïve questioning. The woman was Tevinter; to Nelaros that was reason enough for her to be labeled 'foe' and therefore deserved to die.

He did not question his own bloodthirsty, physical response to the woman's cold reasoning of those who are weaker are prey to those who are stronger. Beside him, Adela tensed and he took note of the sneer that crossed Zevran's handsome features. The human mage's brown eyes narrowed as he stepped back, obviously pulling power within himself just before their dwarven companion snorted out a response, launching himself into battle, quickly felling two of the armored men standing to each side of the elven slaver.

Taking hold of the saw-toothed blade he had confiscated from one Tevinter corpse, Nelaros threw himself into the battle, allowing his fury, his fear, the pain he had endured during these months – the loss of time, of the wife he had been promised – to wash over and carry him, blinding him to the lives he took as he sought to bring down all of the slavers who stood before him and his companions. Adela had stepped back, arrow notching to bowstring before the Dalish slaver could bring up her own weapon. Snarling out, Adela released the missile at near point blank range, not even watching as it pierced one bright eye, sinking deeply into the tattooed woman's skull, before turning to ready another arrow to bring down another foe.

The Dalish and her guards fell easily, something that had surprised Nelaros, given how the woman had bragged about her own ability as she brandished the fine, Dalish-made bow of ironbark she held in one slender hand. However, she had obviously not counted upon the sheer ire of the elves she faced nor the grim, battle-ready determination of the non-elven companions to see justice brought to those who could not seek it themselves.

Pride welled within the elven male's breast as he considered the woman who had, just a year before, been his betrothed. He knew he had no claim upon her now. The contract well and void given the fact she was now a Grey Warden and married to another. However, that pride remained, however undeserved he knew he was to it.

And now, as they had previously fought through alley to alleyway, dark street to vacant rooms, the elves and their companions battled slavers room by room, leaving behind a trail of blood and death, ignoring their own injuries, allowing Anders to quickly heal the worst of the injuries, determination fueling each of them, to finally just end this matter and bring to justice those whose hand guided those now lying dead within pools of their own blood and bile.

Finally, they reached a set of double-wide doors, and carefully opened them and stepped out onto an open balcony, overlooking the heads of dozens of armored Tevinter warriors, surrounding one robed figure.

The head of the robed form lifted, and hatred seethed through Nelaros' body, flooding his limbs with heat and near uncontained energy, the desire to rend tightening his breast.

"Ah," came the smooth voice from below, raised just enough to carry to the group overlooking them. "I see that you have finally made your way here, Warden Commander." There was an almost respectful tenor to his words and tone of voice, but Nelaros, who had become far too well acquainted with this mage, recognized the undertone of haughtiness just below the surface.

Adela's blue eyes quickly scanned the area, taking in the numbers that surrounded the mage, before they finally settled upon the mage himself. His generous mouth widened slightly into what could pass as a friendly smile, had his brown eyes not been nearly so cold and calculating.

"Are you prepared to die, slaver?" Adela's quiet, cool voice echoed through the chamber, and Nelaros took note of the shifting of feet of the warriors as they turned to look at their master. That smile turned to a smirk, and Caladrius drifted his hands out, palms outwards, in a sign of feigned confusion.

"Why ever would you ask such a thing, Commander?"

Adela glanced over at Nelaros, and his heart froze at the calm coolness contained therein. She was obviously weary, as bone-tired as any of them. But, something more weighed upon her – the knowledge that her father was gone, that Soris' wife was gone; that so many of those she had known her entire life – gone. As tired…as weary as she was, he knew, without any words, that she desired this one's death. An end to all of this.

And the realization that, no matter how many battles they fought, no matter the blood spilled, the agony shared…they…she could not save everyone.

Innocents would continue to suffer, to die, and there would not be a thing the elven warden could do otherwise.

And so, without another word, without any acknowledgment that this would, indeed, result in violence, Nelaros launched himself over the balcony rail, followed quickly by Zevran as a hail of arrows began to rain down upon the mage and his guards, to engage the enemy.

DA:O

A slender, age spotted hand reached over, carefully picking the small, delicate tea pot up, tipping and pouring the steaming, murky liquid with practiced ease. With a sigh of content, the elderly mage settled the tea pot back down, picking up the matching tea cup and bringing the steaming liquid to thin lips.

Ah, peace and quiet. Since joining up with The Warden and her group, Wynne had found little time for simply joys such as settling into a comfortable chair, a cup of exquisite tea in one hand, her favorite novel in another. None of the younglings running about underfoot; no life or death battles springing up around them; no politics to mend, no quests to fulfill; no darkspawn to contend with.

Settling deeper into the soft cushions of the chair, the mage delicately sipped at her tea, age worn eyes settling upon the large print of the book she held between her hands. As she settled deeper, allowing her mind to start to become lost in the words of the long-dead author, a tingle ran along her crossed legs. Frowning, she shifted her body slightly, trying to ignore the dull sensation as she turned her attention back to her tome.

A dull wave flashed through the room, and the mage could no longer ignore the feeling. Someone was utilizing the Fade. Frowning, she settled both cup and book upon the nightstand at her elbow, pushing herself standing as she turned slowly, extending her senses. The wave she felt rose, cresting about her, and her frown deepened. The power utilized did not feel familiar to elder mage, unable to read either Niall or Morrigan within the power signature of the wave. The magic used – she was certain – was one for opening up the Veil between the material world and the Fade. Head twisting to face her door, Wynne stepped forward, hand outstretched as she slowly crossed the room, her senses trying desperately to latch onto the power that surrounded her.

Before she could reach her door, the power ebbed, dipping beneath her senses, to finally vanish. Her frown deepened to a scowl as she glared at her outstretched hand to the brass doorknob.

DA:O

The air rippled with dark power, blood tingling within the veins of those against the blood mage and his soldiers. Anders gritted his teeth against the tingle along his skin, feeling as vile as multitudes of worms wriggling beneath the surface of his flesh, digging into his bone and muscle. Battling against the dark magic of his Tevinter foe, he cast out with a cleansing aura, dispelling much of the evil that seeped through from the demons of the Fade.

Beside him, Adela shivered against the filthy magic, continuing to rain down missiles upon their foes as Oghren, Zevran and Nelaros dogged the soldiers as the elven archer and human mage concentrated much of their own efforts in distracting the human mage.

The droning of spells spilled from Caladrius' mouth, drowned out by the war cries erupting from the dwarven berserker in the Tevinters' midst. Great axe swept out, tossing many aside as it cleaved others in bloody sprays. Face drenched in the blood of his enemies as well as his own, the dwarf launched himself into the fray, heedless of any danger to himself, aware only of the draw and lure of battle, death and bloodletting that awaited him.

Being far more self-protecting and stealthy, Zevran slipped into the alcoves, darting out among the throng of Tevinter warriors, stabbing and hamstringing many, incapacitating them against the heavy slam of the shield and swift strike of the sword of Nelaros, the elven warrior working in tandem with the Crow assassin as though the two had trained together regularly, rather than having simply met this day for battle.

Glowing shields appeared around Caladrius' body, preventing Adela's arrows to gain purchase within his flesh. A smirk formed upon his cruelly handsome face as he became aware of the growing frustration within the elven Warden. The blond mage's spells barely had the power to graze along his defenses, let alone penetrate any of his barriers.

So self-confident was the mage he paid no mind to the falling of his soldiers about him until the final blood filled gurgle reached his ears from a suddenly quiet chamber. Eyes wide, he turned his head slightly, quickly surveying the carnage around him.

His more than two dozen warriors had been felled – quite effectively – by three warriors while he had been kept from the main battle by the continuous bombardments of an elven archer and Circle trained mage.

Teeth grinding, shields still maintained against arrow, spell and blade, he turned his attention back to the Warden, very much aware of his precarious predicament.

"Ah," he said in his smooth tones, a calm he did not feel lining his voice, "it would seem we are at an impasse."

A nearly amused twitch of her brow as she kept her bow trained upon the mage, Adela quipped back, "Impasse?"

Fighting the scowl against the insolent and weary tone in the Warden's voice, the blood mage bowed his tattooed head slightly. "Indeed," he swept a hand out to encompass the fallen, his gaze briefly falling upon the trio who had effectively decimated his forces. "I have no soldiers at my beck and call, but plenty of powerful spells yet to cast." He smiled, turning back to face fully the elven Warden who had not relaxed her stance. "Perhaps now would be a good time to parlay."

"You really expect me to parlay with you when you have caused so much harm within my own home?" Adela demanded, fingers twitching along the bowstring as her shoulders tightened, elbow aching for release.

The mage caught the tremor in the elf's voice, and his smile broadened slightly. "We were given permission. A great deal of gold was paid to the Regent for the elves."

Blue eyes narrowed, focused solely upon the mage, not watching as Nelaros crept closer to the mage standing in the midst of corpses.

"You really think saying something like that will gain you points?" Adela seethed, grip upon her bow tightening, knuckles white, fingers reddening.

"We were invited," Caladrius explained, voice softening as he seemed to realize how unsteady the elf above him was at that moment.

"By the Regent?"

"Indeed," the mage bowed his head slightly, a slim show of respect.

A moment of silence followed as Nelaros continued closer and Adela scrutinized the mage upon the floor.

"Doesn't matter," she finally replied, raising the bow and pulling the bowstring back. "You still enslaved my family…my friends. Maker knows how many you killed…"

"Now, now…" the mage tried to placate the elf, raising his hands palms up, patting the air, "I am certain we can come to some understanding…"

"Understand that you took my father!" Adela shouted, taking a bead between the mage's eyes. Beside her Anders took a deep breath, and she was uncertain if he would try to stop her or not. She didn't care. If he interfered, it would not matter. She could let the arrow fly before he could reach her.

However, she had misunderstood Anders' action. The mage was pulling in his thin reserves of magic, hoping to cast out a final cleansing aura, hoping to, at the very least, disrupt the blood mage's shields. They had to be weakening. He had maintained them for a very long time…

"Your…father?"

"Cyron Tabris."

And the blood mage realized just how dangerous his situation was. He had heard that the elven Warden had been from the alienage; he recalled Howe's agents specifically suggesting that Cyron Tabris – a well-known artist even in the Tevinter Imperium – would fetch a great deal on the markets. Indeed, the slaver mage already had several bidders lined up for the artist even before setting him upon the ship back to the Imperium…

And now he understood.

He had been set up. Or the Warden had been.

It did not matter now.

The artist was the father of the Warden Commander of Fereldan.

He was a dead man, and he felt fear that perhaps his reserves could not outlast the ire of the elven warden above him.

It made no matter, not in the next instance. Anders raised his hands, casting out his final spell before his reserves gave out completely. Adela's hand pulled back the bowstring, but before she could launch the missile, Nelaros sprang forward, blade slicing forward as he swung his shield out, catching the mage in the chest just as his defensive spells were washed away by Anders' spell. Gasping, breath forced violently from his lungs by the collision, Caladrius stumbled backwards, away from the shield. However, he did not fall far enough away from the oncoming blade as it slashed deeply across his chest, opening the material of his fine robe, splitting the flesh of his chest like the flesh of rotten fruit. Blood poured from the wound and he stumbled, maintaining his footing only barely as he brought his hands to the wound, desperately seeking to close the wound with his hands as though the flesh upon his chest was as the material of his once fine robes.

As blood continued to flow over and around his clenching hands, he gasped out the words of a spell. Catching the approaching elven warrior in its grasp. With a scream, Nelaros stopped in his approach, back arching as his neck bent back in an impossible angle. Arms outstretched as though he was being pulled in different directions by unseen hands, he rose from the ground, the snapping of bones and tearing of muscles resounding harshly in the air. Crying out his name, Adela let loose the arrow she had drawn back, catching the gasping blood mage in the temple. She did not watch as the missile continued on its trajectory, driving deeply into the mage's head, the fire rune upon the arrowhead burning and cauterizing its path through the brain matter of the Tevinter. She had already dropped her bow and was racing toward the now silent Nelaros, who lay upon blood soaked floor, unmoving and silent, back still arched painfully back, neck at an odd angle.

Caladrius' body flopped to the floor, quite dead, as Adela reached the still form of the fallen elven warrior.

As she fell unceremoniously to her knees, Anders stumbled behind her, downing one vial and then another of lyrium as he sought to pull up healing magic to aid the fallen elf.


	71. Chapter 71

_My thanks, as always, to those who continue to follow, alert, favorite and review: Wyl, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Legionary Prime, MemoriesoftheForgottenGuardi an, csorciere_

_See? I can update quicker now. *cheeky grin* Although, the chapter is shorter than intended. However, that just means the next update will be more timely. _

_DragonAge: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 71_

Wearily trudging through the Alienage toward the front gate, Adela barely glanced back toward her companions. Each was as worn and tired – as weary – as the elven Warden. Even Oghren, who had seen enough battle to placate even his own berserker driven blood lust, was uncharacteristically quiet, fully understanding the somber attitude of the group.

They had stopped the slavers; had gotten to the heart of the matter of the disturbances within the elven ghetto. But, too much damage – irreparable damage – had already been done.

Adela's father was gone; her cousin's pregnant wife was gone; their Hahren, Valendrian…so many – too many others, gone. Taken to the Tevinter slave markets with little to no hope of ever being recovered. How the Alienage would recover, Adela had no idea.

Anders stumbled along beside Zevran, who reached over and gently grasped the human mage's arm, steadying him with a deft pull. The mage gave the elf a careful, grateful smile before it fell as his brown eyes fell upon the small, stooped figure in front of them, and he cursed his own failure to save the life of the elven warrior who had joined their group to stop the slavers.

Adela had been heartbroken as the mage had shaken his head, indicating without words that there was no hope. No matter how skilled in the healing arts the Spirit Healer was, he could not repair the fatally broken neck or back, the twisted organs within bruised flesh, nor could he call back a life that had passed beyond the Veil. Any magic that could do that was not magic the healer would practice.

And so, they had taken Nelaros' corpse from that final, blood filled chamber, and left him with Shianni and the others, certain they would see to his care. The corpses littering the alienage would be dealt with by the city guard once the warden and her group reported in.

Michael, she was certain, would be relieved to be able to get into the alienage and take stock himself. However, telling her human friend that Naomi was out of reach…her head hung lower as she considered her human friend's pain at the loss of the woman he loved.

She briefly wondered about those who were quietly backing the City guardsman, wondering if they would take note of the happenings within the alienage.

If they would care.

A chill settled over her with that thought and she adroitly pushed it away. No need questioning the motives of any she could call upon as ally.

They had promised the blind Templar to send another group in to assist him with his investigation of the alienage orphanage. The Templar had smiled pleasantly, understanding fully that the Warden and her current companions were in no shape – physically or mentally – to help him. So he had promised to remain within the Alienage and await the arrival of the Warden's promised team. She tiredly assured him that they would arrive later that day and then had led the group from the alienage's center, unable to meet again with either Shianni or Soris, determined simply to return to the Arl's townhouse, report their findings, bathe and then sleep.

Feet dragging slightly upon the path, scuffing the dirt into tiny wakes behind, she felt a coward. Running away from what family she had left within her childhood home, unable to report her failings. Cyrion Tabris was as much father to her cousins as he was to her. To tell them that she had been unable to save him…she could not face them.

She knew neither would blame her – the slavers had been active within the alienage for months, while she had been gathering her armies, fighting darkspawn and dodging the agents and assassins of those who pulled the strings of the Regent. But, when her thoughts drifted to Alistair, she felt that twinge of guilt. She had managed to glean some happiness for herself. Perhaps…perhaps if she had been less focused on garnering some small joy for herself…

Her blonde head shook, but not with denial, more weary, drooping slightly to her chest. She had not noticed that Zevran had moved to her side until the elven assassin placed a warm arm across her tense shoulders, pulling her against him, lending her what strength he could from his mere presence. Smiling gratefully at her friend, she did not pull away, but burrowed deeper under his arm.

A smirk crossed her face before scrunching up as the smell of leather, blood, dirt and sweat assaulted her senses. "You need a bath, Zev."

Chuckling, the rumbling quaking through the younger elf, Zev took an exaggerated sniff of the girl beside him. "As do you, my Dulcinea," he purred lightly in her ear, chuckling at her grimace at the newest nickname.

Glancing back over her shoulder and Zevran's hand, she replied in a rough voice, "I'll bet neither of us smells as bad as Oghren."

His chuckling gaining in strength, Zevran nodded. "However, he would, rather proudly I might add, strut within his own odor for days if we were to let him."

"Which we won't," came the quick rejoinder.

"Naturally."

Silence fell again and the pair continued to walk, Adela tucked protectively under Zevran's arm, Anders and Oghren just mere steps behind.

DA:O

There had been little time for pleasantries as the Warden and her group stumbled into the great hall of the Arl's townhouse. The four waved aside servants and members of their party as they made the journey to the upstairs study that the Arl seemed to prefer for going over strategy.

Face drawn and pale, Adela slumped into a nearby chair, the other three taking strategic positions around her, still feeling protective and weary and worn from what they had seen and learned from the alienage.

Alistair, suddenly feeling very much the outsider, stood behind Adela's chair, hands placed gently and lightly upon her stooped shoulders as the four recounted everything they had discovered in the Alienage, Nelaros' second death as Zevran pulled free from beneath his armor a treatise, signed by Loghain, giving permission for the Tevinter slavers to purchase any elves from the Alienages.

Eamon's face went tight as he read over the document, stoically ignoring the blood that stained the edges of the parchment. Gray eyes rising, he looked down at the weary elf, frowning deeply.

"This is, indeed, Loghain's signature."

Sighing, lifting her head, Adela nodded. "I recognized it as well." She frowned. "Had there been other such activities in the other Alienages around Ferelden?"

The Arl shook his head, frowning. "None that have reached my ears. Although word of lone elves – those not within the walls of Alienages – disappearing had become more frequent."

Sighing, Adela rubbed a stained hand across her face, nodding wearily at the news.

Eamon's frown deepening, he handed the document back to the Warden. "This will help us out at the Landsmeet."

"All it does is continue to point the finger at Loghain," Adela muttered, scowling at the document back in her hand. "We need proof against the blood mage that is behind the scenes."

"Chancellor Arawn is well respected and not known as a mage," Eamon reminded the elf as he sat down in a chair near hers, eyes penetrating upon her face, capturing her attention and holding it. "Anything we found at Howe's estates would be useful, but we still have nothing directly linking the man to any of the illegal activities perpetrated by Loghain."

After handing the slaver documents to Alistair, Adela scrubbed her hands roughly over her face. "The Landsmeet convenes in…?"

"Two days, Warden." Eamon offered the girl a slight smile. "Day after tomorrow."

Rising, glancing over at her three weary companions, she sighed again. "Get bathed and rested, all," she offered a tired smile as three faces looked up at her. "I'm going to do the same." She looked over at Eamon, who seemed about to protest. "We can't do anything about it right now," she said turning away from the man, ignoring how rude the action seemed. "Oh," she looked over at Alistair. "Alistair, I need you, Leliana and Wynne to go to the Alienage. There is a Templar therein who needs some assistance with an issue he is investigating." She clutched at her head for a moment, a soft curse slipping from between her lips. "And, on your way back, stop by the Servant's Path. You will find the real Arl of Denerim hiding somewhere along the path. He's to be brought somewhere safe until the Landsmeet."

Missing the pained expression that crossed her husband's face, unaware that her final command had prompted further questions, the elf slumped out of the room, heading to the chambers she shared with Alistair, searching out that bath.

The others glanced at each other and then Alistair briefly before making their own escape to their chambers, each missing the look that Eamon exchanged with the other Warden.

DA:O

It felt as though a door was suddenly swung open wide to a winter storm. A chill flashed over him, washing over him in a cold wave, shocking him. Gasping, he opened his eyes, sitting up quickly and rubbing a long fingered hand along his narrow face.

Breath catching, harsh, in his throat, he glanced down at his sleeping companion. Surprisingly, the elf remained asleep. Chuckling, Niall carefully disentangled himself from Zevran's legs – which had twisted with his own during slumber – and pushed himself to the edge of the bed, slumping over slightly, face resting in the palms of his hand as he tried to collect his bearings.

With another glance to his sleeping lover, the mage rose, soft muscles dancing lightly along his shoulders and back as he reached over for his robe. Quickly slipping it over his head, the young mage made his way from the chambers.

The cold still danced along the air, and the Circle trained mage knew that it signified the Veil of the Fade being sundered. Frowning, he carefully closed the door behind him, standing, barefooted, robe crinkled, as he raised his face, eyes closed, as he tried to discern the mage casting.

Months of traveling with the mages in the Warden's group had made it so that the Fade sensitive mage could tell which of his companions was utilizing the Fade, regardless of how small of a casting it was. However, this time, the talented mage could not discern the origin of the magic being utilized.

Taking a deep breath, eyes remaining closed, the mage followed the trail of cold, only vaguely grateful for the hour. There were no servants about to question his rather strange demeanor.

The trail took him to one of the balconies, overlooking the backyard gardens. Frowning, his eyes quickly skimmed over the grounds, taking note of the pair of guards at the far side of the grounds. Confused, he raised his eyes, finally fixing upon the still form of Ser Perth, who stood upon a balcony a floor above his own. Stepping closer, the mage took note that the knight had not taken notice of his own presence, the knight's dark eyes fixed upon the gardens below, a perplexed and astonished expression upon his fine face. Frowning, with a quick glance about, the mage closed his eyes once more, seeking out the trail he had been following.

It was gone, vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Head hanging slightly to his chest, he stood there, trying to reconnect with the opened Veil. However, whoever had been casting had ceased, and the tell-tale sign of the Fade being utilized was gone.

Being nothing else for him to do, determining that one of his fellow mages had been utilizing their own power and he was simply too tired to identify who it was, Niall shrugged, casting one more look at the still form of Perth, before making his way back to the chambers – and bed – he shared with Zevran.

DA:O

A day's travel from the human city of Denerim the dwarves had made their camp, wide eyes often glancing up with apprehension to the wide open sky above them. Just two days prior they had met with the Queen's Scout, Brosca, who had giggled with near insane intensity at the warriors' discomfort at being upon the surface for such a long period of time.

Even after the Casteless had explained how they would not, for fact, fall up into the vast emptiness of the sky above, they still moved with great caution and trepidation, uneasy, squinted eyes upturned toward the mass of blue and white above.

The various commanders of the gathered armies sat in conference, deciding to remain outside of the human city until they had word from the Warden Commander herself, maintaining the outposts spread between the human city and Ostagar, runners sustaining communication between the spread-out groups on a daily basis.

During their travels, they had met up with the outspread groups from the Dalish clans, many of whom had chosen to camp nearby. Although they would never admit it, the dwarves felt somewhat comforted by the wild elves' presence, fully aware that the elves would be far more capable against any natural-born surface danger they could face.

And the elves benefitted from the presence of the dwarves in case any darkspawn happened by.

The arrangement, unspoken as it was, was met with welcome from each camp.

Even when the band of strange humans – feral, wolf-like eyes and rough appearance – had shown up and camped just beyond where the elves were stationed the mood of comradery between the disparate groups only grew.

They all choose to take the companionship as a good indication that they would face their foes easily side by side.

DA:O

With a frown, Gail followed dutifully behind her mistress, watching as Isolde pulled the cloak tighter about her slender form. The noblewoman glanced back to her maidservant, motioning for her to get closer, a matching frown upon her scarred face as she reached over to tug the elf's hood closer about her cheeks. Then, with a soft smile, the Orlesian led her servant along the hidden passage, watching as the magelights that lined the cold stone walls blinked on with a soft light as the women passed.

Gail knew who the noble was meeting, and she felt a slight sense of excitement at being included in the rendezvous. It had been many months since last they had managed to speak with Isolde's agent, and the young elf was anxious to learn of her progress.

And, guessing by how Isolde herself quickened her pace, the servant was certain her mistress was as anxious as well. After all, the Warden had acquired valuable information. Information that she was certain her agent could use in her search.

DA:O

Shadowy figures dodged and weaved through the alleyways of the city, slipping into doorways and alcoves, shadowed faces turning, watching, as the group entered the brothel through a hidden side passage. One form, slighter than the others, rose, stepping fully into the light, revealing a lithe, leather clad elven female, a dark hood pulled carefully over her head, casting her features into deeper shadows. Stepping to the door, she bent down, examining the locking mechanism. Behind her, the other figures disengaged from the shadows, revealing three others – humans; two men and a woman – who took up defensive positions behind the stooped elf.

There is a near silent click and the elf rose, carefully pulling the door open, nodding her head briefly as she then pulled finely crafted twin daggers from their sheaths. The woman and one man mimicked her motions as the second man pulled his shield and a long sword free from his back.

Silently, the four slipped into the revealed dark passage, following the group who had entered mere moments before.

The passage led to a stairwell, leading deep beneath the building. No other doorways or stairwells revealed themselves to the quad, so they were certain this was the path the others ahead had followed. Carefully, they descended the stairway, pausing every now and again to check for traps or listen for life below.

Apparently those they followed were certain in their secrecy and the four soon found themselves standing at a broad, wooden door.

Moving her hood slightly, the elven woman pressed an ear to the cool wood, lifting a hand to tick off the number of voices she could discern behind the door. As she ticked off six – the number they had witnessed enter through the hidden passage – her companions nodded, rolling their shoulders and flexing their knees as they prepared to rush the room beyond.

No words were passed between the four – they had already gone over why they were here and what needed to be done. No need to go over well established plans.

With a final nod, the elf pulled the door open with a sudden burst, startling the occupants of the room beyond. Swiftly, her three companions rushed the room, engaging those within with blade and shield. As her companions engaged the others – two qunari mercenaries and three human males dressed in leather armor - the elf slipped around the doorway, slipping easily into the shadows of the ill lit room, focusing upon the leader of the group – a tall, slender human woman with chestnut hair and haughty features, a finely crafted bow settled upon her back.

The trio easily felled the woman's bodyguards as their leader slipped from the shadows, facing off against the human. An easy smirk crossed the woman's handsome features as her gaze fell upon the elf before her.

"Well, well, Little Bird has finally found her way back to me," the woman spoke with a heavy Orlesian accent, her tongue curling around her words.

"Only to stop you, Marjoline," the elf said in a voice equally thick with the foreign accent. A slender hand rose, to pull the hood from her face, revealing the pretty, sharp features of the Queen's maidservant. "And do not call me that," she frowned slightly. "I am not that person any longer."

"Tsk, tsk, _Little Bird_," Marjoline taunted, long, elegant fingers playing at the leather skirt about her hips, eyes turned downward to peer into the smaller woman's dark eyes. "You will always be my Little Bird."

If Marjoline noticed the three foes at her back, she made no outward appearance of such. Her attention seemed fully upon the elf before her.

"Your meddling in Ferelden politics ends now, Marjoline," Erlina continued, eyes narrowing as she gave her blades a slight wave, loosening her wrists in anticipation.

"Oh?" Came the smooth response as the human's eyes drifted back, seeming to finally acknowledge the three accomplished warriors at her back.

"We outnumber you, Orlesian wench," the shielded man snarled out at her. "We know that you have been working in Denerim for some time now."

Barely given the man a look, the Orlesian bard kept her gaze fixed upon the elven rogue before her. "Ah, Little Bird," she purred, "your companions are so pedestrian." Now she allowed her cool gaze to briefly flick over the warrior.

"Maybe so," Erlina offered the warrior an apologetic smirk, "however, they do have their uses," she turned back toward the bard master. "Stopping you, for instance, from causing any more harm."

"What harm, may I ask?"

A dark brow quirked up at that, the smirk never leaving the elf's pretty face. "You are behind the false information about the Couslands being leaked out," Erlina took a small step forward, Marjoline watching closely, warily narrowing her eyes. "The references behind the Chancellor's appointment." The dark head tilted slightly as she took another step nearer, this time forcing the bard master to take an almost imperceptible step back. "And, you are currently the rallying cry against the Wardens here in the city." Now she stopped, eyes focused upon her former mistress's sharp face. "Yes?"

Smirking back at the elf, Marjoline shifted on her feet, hip tilted as she brought her hands up to clap slowly at her former student. "Brava! Nicely worked out, Erlina. Although, you have only barely touched on what my organization has been involved in within Ferelden's borders."

One shoulder shrugged up. "Those are the most damning."

Mirroring the nonchalant movement of the elf, the human said smoothly, "If that is what you choose to believe, who am I to say otherwise, no?"

A dark brow twitched ever so slightly, however the human bard master caught the motion. That smirk widened a hint of triumph upon her pretty, sharp features as she contemplated the elven woman before her. Only the slightest of movements, just at the human's peripheral, caught her attention.

"Ah, so, Little Bird," the Orlesian human sighed out. "It would seem our reunion must come to a close." Dark eyes narrowed slightly as she made to turn. "I am sorry you have chosen new masters."

Erlina opened her mouth to speak, but the words never got out before the air tingled with heavy magic. Even the untrained elf could feel the power of a skilled mage nearby and she spun back, pushing herself away from her former master as a heavily robed human male was revealed just behind Marjoline, hands raised at the elven bard.

The human warrior that had accompanied Erlina gave a shout, his attention focused upon the mage. Arms raised, a blast of viscous white light erupted from the warrior's strong form, slamming into the enemy magic user, casting the slender male backwards, stumbling, eyes wide as he realized what he now faced.

The Templar gave the mage a slow grin as his sword hand thrust out, a blaze of white cascading over the longsword he held, piercing into the mage's chest. Bereft of his magic, the mage stumbled further back, seeking an escape from the Templar. A scream escaped his lips as the Templar's sword cut deeply into his back, slicing through muscle and bone, driving through lung tissue, to erupt from his chest in a spray of blood. Dazedly, dimming eyes drifted down to the protruding tip as he fell forward as blood and bile spilled from between his lips. The blade caught in ribs, tugging it free of the Templar's hand.

The Templar was still armed, and had spun about, close now to the Orlesian, and he smashed the shield into the startled woman's face, knocking her back as Erlina skipped forward, daggers raised to pierce through the soft leather the human woman wore.

It was over in less than a minute – the mage lay upon his stomach, the Templar's sword sticking from his back as a widening pool of blood flowed from his cooling body. Marjoline gave out a gasp as she slid to the floor, a wet cough bubbling up from her throat with a trickle of blood as her lungs collapsed. With cool eyes, Erlina watched as the final light went out in the woman's eyes and the human's body slumped forward.

"It would seem Lady Isolde's information was correct," the Templar said as he retrieved his weapon from the dead mage's body.

A small smile crossed the elf's face as she nodded her agreement. With a final glance around, Erlina gave her still standing companions a nod, and then led them from the slaughter.

Both Mother Boann and Ser Landry were going to be well pleased with her report.

DA:O

Tight faced, Sargeant Kylon maneauvered his men about the Alienage, sending one experienced soldier along with Adela's companions, who had arrived shortly after he and his group had, to assist the elder Templar with the orphanage. Thus far, the group had not emerged from the broken down structure. He did not envy what they could still find among the rubble of the place. Although the official report had been that all bodies had been removed and accounted for, Michael Kylon was beyond blindly trusting even his direct superiors.

Tired eyes scanned the familiar area, taking in the unkempt appearance of the once tended common area. Although poor, many areas – especially the common areas – had been well kept, the pride the elves had for the ancient tree in the center of their ghetto obvious. Now, there was no avoiding or denying the blood stains that still showed in the dark dirt.

He lifted his eyes, scanning the elves that were busy working on setting things right as well as shoring up their gates and walls. His gaze skimmed over familiar forms such as Elva and Alerith and unfamiliar shapes, hopelessly searching out the one face he knew was not there. A pain rose in his chest and he clamped his teeth down upon the sob that threatened as he thought of his beloved Naomi, trying without success not to imagine what the girl was going through at the hands of the Tevinters.

_Now was not the time_…he shook his head, ordering his men to help shore up the walls and secure the damaged gates.

War would find them soon. He would make as certain as he possibly could that even the least considered among Denerim's denizens would be as protected as they could be.

DA:O

Darkness had fallen and Alistair and his group had returned from the Alienage hours before. They had found the orphanage haunted by a demon and its minions, which they had easily dispatched, with the help of the Templar and Sargent Kylon's man. Before heading back to the townhouse, Alistair had directed the group to the Chantry, wherein they had requested the old, abandoned building be cleansed and, if possible, taken down. The taint of the demon and its ilk had too deeply penetrated the old structure to make it worthy of any habitation.

Their return had found Adela and the group she had taken with her to clean out the slavers fast asleep, still exhausted – emotionally, mentally and physically – from their earlier exertions. Watching the calm features of the elf – her face having lost the tense anxiety it had been holding these past weeks – Alistair could not bring himself to wake her, even to report on their success and perhaps garner a kiss. So, he had tucked the blanket up around her chin, kissed her lightly upon her smooth brow – chuckling softly as she gave a little twitch of her mouth - and left the room.

Feeling at ease, the young Warden had made his way down to the kitchens, raiding the larder of meat and cheese, and set about putting together a cold supper. As he ate, Ser Perth had entered the room, requesting to speak with him and Eamon together. Confused, Alistair slipped slices of meat and cheese between two pieces of thickly sliced bread and, with a forlorn glance at the repast still spread out, followed the Redcliffe knight from the kitchens and to Eamon's private study.

DA:O

Heavy double doors – ironbark wood inlaid with tempered steel and iron – stood before them. Deep wounds, old scorch marks and dimpled wood evinced a time when war had come directly to this place, more than likely when Maric, Loghain, Rowan and Adaia had led their troops against the nobles who held out against the rightful king within the chamber beyond.

Raising a small hand, Adela lightly ran a hand over the damage, then stepped back, straightened her shoulders and gave a nod. At each door, Oghren and Sten gave a push and opened both doors wide for the Warden and her company to proceed into the Landsmeet chamber.

As the doors opened, angry voices and shouts could be heard, and Adela gave a slight sigh as her gaze settled upon the beleaguered figure of Loghain, who was currently shouting up at Eamon, who stood upon a high balcony, challenging the former general. Adela could not make out the words, as several other nobles had added their voices to the fray.

A chill, however, settled down her spine as she led her group deeper into the chamber and Loghain's voice rose to greet her.

"Ah, and here is the puppet master now," he sneered in a tone the elf had never heard directed toward her in her entire life. "Tell us, Warden, what has Orlais given you to betray your own kin?"

Surprised by the verbal assault, the elven warden almost stumbled in her step. A slight nudge from Alistair, who kept his features passive and calm, kept her on her feet and moving forward. Frowning slightly, she redirected her attention to the man who stood at the front of the chamber.

As their Warden's attention focused upon the Regent, Leliana and Zevran slipped, unnoticed, into the shadows. From the back of the group, Morrigan, Wynne and Anders stepped back further, separating, seeking with enhanced senses what the two rogues sought with their eyes.

"I am neither the puppet master nor traitor here, Loghain," Adela spoke in a low, clear voice, blue eyes searching a face that had been so familiar to her yet, at this time, seemed as foreign as any other she had encountered during the long, arduous year.

Ice blue eyes hardened further, and Adela had to force herself to straighten and, raising her voice, to begin telling those assembled of the goings on in the alienage. As the Wardens and Loghain squared off verbally, a group of shadowy forms slipped around the chamber, taking strategic stances as several knights, Templars and warriors filtered in from various doors, taking positions amongst the gathered nobles.

"And where have the Wardens hidden my daughter? Ferelden's Queen?" Loghain snapped out as the list of crimes had been presented and reacted to.

"What do you mean?" Alistair's eyes narrowed slightly as he glared at the older man. Seeming to take note of the younger man, Loghain turned his attention to the Second.

"Everyone knows how your group stormed Arl Howe's estates, killing not only the Arl but his betrothed, the Lady Cousland." That declaration caused new stirrings and murmurs throughout those gathered. Blue eyes searched the group, finally settling upon the stiff form of Fergus Cousland who had moved to stand beside Eamon upon the upper balcony. The nobleman returned the stare with an open glare. "I see you have Fergus Cousland, the man who would directly benefit from Howe's demise, with you."

"How dare you…!" Fergus snarled, taking a step forward before feeling the Arl's calming hand upon his arm. Taking a breath, Fergus stepped back. "The Warden Commander has already presented evidence that Howe and my…Elissa Cousland were instrumental in the…destruction of the Cousland family…"

"I have it on good authority that they did so based upon evidence they unearthed," Loghain's voice rose, cruelly. "That the Couslands had turned traitor, giving Orlais valuable information and entry into our country. Thereby giving them open license to try, once again, to regain their rebellious territory."

"So a small child was instrumental in that traitorous act?" Adela almost whispered, keeping her eyes from her friend. She could not bear to see once again the pain that settled within the dark eyes of the Cousland noble above.

Something passed before Loghain's eyes as he turned, almost startled, to stare at Adela. The young elf saw it, the clearing of blue eyes, an almost return of the strong man's senses before whatever magic being utilized to control the man has reasserted itself.

"Besides," Adela spoke again, this time raising her voice as her eyes searched the shadows. "We have proof that the _evidence_ Howe had was contrived by an Orlesian bard Howe, himself, had employed."

Again, Loghain's eyes cleared as his brows furrowed, confusion momentarily crossing his hardened features. It took a moment longer for the blood magic to reassert itself, but Adela knew that the man before her was struggling for control.

As Adela continued to watch Loghain, Erlina stepped from the shadows, stepping to Fergus Cousland's side. With a bow, her face impassive, she slipped the documents she had taken from Marjoline's corpse and private apartment into the startled man's hands. With another bow, she easily slipped back into the shadows, eliciting several startled gasps from the nobles nearby as the elf completely vanished from sight.

Dark eyes skimmed the documents, settling upon the signature of Howe at the bottom of several of the pages. Handing them off to Arl Eamon, Fergus raised his head as the elder man scanned over the parchments. "This proves that Howe had acted against my family, working in concert with the Lady Elissa to take over the lands, properties, rights and responsibilities that the Cousland have held in honest stewardship for centuries."

Eamon nodded his agreement before walking to a noblewoman – one Adela recognized as the Bann Alfstanna – and handing her the documents for her review.

"Convenient that the proof should appear now," Loghain sneered as Alfstanna's brow rose, her frown deepening as she read the contents.

"Convenient or not," Alfstanna said as she raised her eyes from the documents, "these are compelling evidence that Howe and Elissa Cousland," it did not escape anyone's notice that Alfstanna did not use the honorifics for either deceased noble, "were working in concert to accuse the Teyrn and Teyrna Cousland – and their vassals – that they were working to further Orlais' interest in Ferelden at the costs of our own liberty."

Outraged voices echoed throughout the chamber until a clear, feminine voice rose above them all.

"Nobles! Lords and Ladies!" All heads turned toward the source, eyes settling upon the tall, straight form of Anora, who now stood just before the throne, blonde head held high, a simple dress adorning her form as the gold singlet she wore at simple functions settled upon her brow. Behind her, Erlina stood, daggers sheathed at her hips, dark eyes scanning the area, searching out any threat to her fully exposed mistress.

Many of those gathered cried out "Your Majesty!" before falling respectfully in deep bows or curtsies, which Anora acknowledged with a simple bow of her head.

"Hear me, good servants of Ferelden!" Her blues eyes, so similar to Loghain's, settled upon the blank face of her father. "My father is not the man he once was. He has not been in control of his faculties for some time."

More shouts and questions, garbled and incomprehensible filled the chambers and, with an almost impatient raise of her hand, Anora opened her mouth to say more.

However, the words never left her mouth as Loghain snarled out, "It would seem as though our Queen has fallen victim to the Grey Warden's influence."

Anora's blue eyes flashed with indignation as she regarded her father with cool resolve. The Regent raised his dark head, icy blue eyes fixing impassively upon his daughter's face.

"Lords and Ladies," called Fergus Cousland from the high balcony, his large hands clasping around the handrail. His deep voice reverberated throughout the chamber, and soon the combined garble of voices from the other nobles quieted down as every pair of eyes – including Anora and Loghain – turned toward him. Satisfied he had everyone's attention, he gave a slight nod as he straightened, his eyes skimming over each upturned face in clear imitation of his own father. "Evidence has been brought before this Landsmeet," he gave a slight wave toward Arl Eamon, who remained standing, quietly, beside the young Teyrn. "I say we put the matter to a vote."

"Yes," echoed Bann Alfstanna, her clear voice flowing over the heads of those gathered below. "A vote will put a halt to this foolishness and allow us to deal with the more important issue of the Blight."

Several voices echoed in agreement with the Bann and Loghain's eyes narrowed, leaving his daughter's face to scan over the faces of those gathered. Those who did not know the man intimately flinched at the seemingly piercing gaze he offered up to them. Those others who knew him – such as Anora and Adela – could only frown at the blankness that appeared in those blue orbs.

A frown settled upon Loghain's face as the gathered nobles began to vote. Voices rose, arguments ensued, however the majority of those gathered recognized the danger of the Blight and therefore offered their alliance to the Grey Wardens.

As the final noble – an exhausted and disheveled Arl Vaughn Kendall – gave his support to the Wardens, Loghain stood stock still, blue eyes unblinking as the Wardens garnered the support of the nobles who ruled Ferelden.

DA:O

As the nobles quarreled and bickered, voices rising in anger, consternation and frustration, the rogues slipped from shadow to shadow, certain that the one who pulled the strings to the Regent had to be nearby. It had surprised them, at first, that the one who called himself 'Chancellor' had not made an appearance. However, due to the nature of the current Landsmeet, and the need for the man to maintain perfect control over Loghain, it made sense. It would not due for the man to cut himself in full view of the nobles.

A delicate frown settled upon Leliana's pretty face as she slipped to the very back of the chamber, sidling passed unsuspecting knights and guards, blue eyes upon the exposed backs of the warriors who knew not that a skilled Bard and Crow Assassin crept in the shadows mere feet from their own position. The Orlesian's eyes skimmed the surrounding shadows, unable to pick out Zevran, but certain the elf was nearby.

Finally determining she needed a higher vantage point, the lithe bard slipped deeper into shadows, finding hand holds in the ancient stonework of the back wall of the chamber, and began to climb to the small balcony overhead. Slipping over the rail, she immediately fell back into the shadows offered by the heavy wall hangings above, pulling free her bow and notching an arrow, keen blue eyes scanning over the heads of the gathered nobles, seeking out a man who would look more like the deceased King Maric than the bastard prince who was their Second.

DA:O

Soft footfalls stilled, keen eyes peering into the dark depths of the shadows he traversed. A tilt of his blond head, pointed ear turned upwards, he paused, listening. A slight smirk crossed his handsome, tattooed features as he looked up, quickly picking the balcony his fellow rogue has positioned herself in. Certain he had the necessary backup should it be necessary, Zevran crouched slightly, pressing back to the wall, as he slid closer to the source of the soft sounds he was certain he had heard.

There, behind one of the many heavy wall hangings that were draped over the cold stone walls to help insulate against both heat and cold was a hidden alcove. Pressing closer, he held out one hand, gently brushing down the edge of the heavy material, making certain not a single telltale wave of his touch could be seen. However, he managed to disturb the material just enough to gather a clearer indication that there was, indeed, someone behind the curtain, a soft male voice whispering.

Preparing himself, realizing he was most likely about to face off against a powerful blood mage (albeit, one deep in the throes of spell casting) Zevran took a moment to gather himself. Then, both blades gripped in his hands, he gripped the heavy cloth and pulled it aside, tearing it down from its hooks to expose a young elven male, a servant by his attire, who raised startled green eyes to his own. Frowning, the elven assassin pointed at the youth, motioning for him to leave the area. With a tight nod, the young elf obliged, glancing back at the older elven male only briefly before hurrying back to the kitchens.

With a shake of his blond head, Zevran stepped from the alcove, eyes searching out the one his Warden was certain pulled the strings to the puppet Regent.


	72. Chapter 72

_Ah! This chapter was a bear! A real live grizzly at that! All snarling maw and sharp teeth! And those claws…It was actually supposed to have been uploaded, well, weeks ago. But, it just wouldn't behave. And, then I made the mistake of reading it before posting…and caught some inconsistencies. But, here it is!_

_Thanks, as always, to those who read on the sly, alert, and review! Wyl, Legionary Prime, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 72_

It was, perhaps, one of the simplest spells any mage could cast. The right charm and carefully worded spell, and the glamour would settle easily over his features, obscuring them just enough to make him unrecognizable to those who were not to see him. Thus, glamour in place, he watched as the elven assassin and red-haired bard made their cautious way around the chamber, searching, no doubt, for him.

Smirking, he brushed his hands down his simple yet finely made tunic, to then rest upon trouser clad hips as his eyes then skimmed over the heads and shoulders of the gathered nobles and their vassals, to settle upon where the elven warden continued to speak – to argue - with his puppet.

DA:O

"The Landsmeet is against you, Loghain," Adela's voice drifted beneath the whispers and mutterings of those gathered about them as she looked up into Loghain's glazed, blue eyes. "Just step back and let the process happen."

A sneer – one that the elf had seen many times upon the man's face, although never directed toward her – crossed his features as he glared down at the tiny woman. "Never!" Those ice eyes glared upwards as he turned, his gaze encompassing the entirety of the chambers. "You all are traitors! Traitors to Ferelden! To Maric! To everything we have ever fought and died for! None of you…" he stretched out his hand, pointing toward the crowd, face upturned and sneering. "have shed blood as I have! _None of you_," he turned now to face Adela and her companions, "have earned the right to challenge me!"

Taken aback, Adela stepped back, hands reflectively going to her sheathed blades. "A rightful vote has been presented, _Loghain_," the elf stressed her friend's name, fearful of the hatred that rose upon his face, the cold death in his eyes as he glared at the girl. "You lost!"

"It is my right to challenge you, _Warden_, to a duel," he hissed. "The winner shall lead the armies of Ferelden!"

"Nonsense!" Alistair stormed, pushing Adela back as he glared at the elder male. "You lost, Loghain. You have no right…"

"But he does," all eyes glanced upwards in disbelief as Eamon, frowning down from the balcony, called out. "Unfortunately, as the one who lost the debate, he is granted a…reprieve of sorts. The duel is his right."

Adela looked up, seeking to meet the Arl's eyes. However, they were hooded and shadowed, and she could not see clearly into their clear, gray depths. She glanced over to Fergus, who was scowling at the elder male beside him. Seeming to feel the weight of the elf's gaze, the young noble turned his scarred face. The expression thereupon – one of resignation – told Adela all she needed. The elf gave the younger noble a nod. Fergus had warned them all that Loghain could use this formal right of challenge. They had hoped that either Arawn would not have been made aware of it, or would not seek to harm his…puppet in such a fashion.

With a heavy sigh and frown, she turned back toward the Regent, who remained standing before her, resolute and calm.

"Very well," she muttered, "if that's how it's done, then who are we to go against the rules?"

"You can't seriously…?" Alistair began to argue, gripping the girl by her upper arm and turning her roughly about. "He's a powerhouse. He'll cut you in half…"

Nodding, she frowned as she looked over at the glowering form of the man who had been a friend of her family for years. "I know I have no chance in a fight against him," she admitted, turning to looking into Alistair's concerned eyes. "However, I can keep out of his way, keep him moving. He's innocent in this," she reminded the other Warden, who's scowl deepened as he realized her plan. "I'd rather him not get hurt or killed any more than I want to be. So," she took a breath, "I'll just keep out of his way as best as I can while _you_," she pointed a finger at Alistair and then turned it toward her other companions. "find that damned mage!"

Blinking at the intensity of her voice, Alistair nodded toward the others, but did not move from his position. Frowning up into his face, Adela opened her mouth to question him when he spoke, "I'm going to take your place in the duel," he insisted, his voice hard in the unusual finality of his tone; unyielding with the determination he felt and fully conveyed with rough hands and hard voice.

"Alistair…" Adela began but was cut off with a sharp shake.

"You're the Commander. Regardless of what Loghain or whomever is pulling his strings think, the armies we've gathered won't follow anyone else but you," he gave her another shake. "I'm your Second. This is what a second is supposed to do." He glanced over at Loghain, who stood, watching patiently, eyes yet again glazed over. "I'll try not to hurt him – too much," he ignored Adela's glare. "and will be certain to keep out of his way as much as possible."

"This is ridiculous…"

"No," came that firm voice again accompanied by a tightening of his grip upon her shoulders, "_you_ fighting him would be ridiculous."

Then, releasing her, Alistair shifted his shoulders, right hand resting upon the hilt of his sword as he stepped forward. "I, Warden Alistair, Second to Commander Adela, hereby accept Regent Loghain Mac Tir's challenge." He bowed lowly toward the Teyrn, and then turned to bow toward the gathered nobility.

With a nod, Loghain stepped back, turning to lead the younger man toward the center of the chambers.

DA:O

Ser Ryan glanced over at his companion, dressed now in full Templar armor, a sharp contrast to the simpler attire from their previous endeavor. The young knight turned slightly, glancing over to where Erlina remained, standing with great caution beside the queen, blades naked in her hands as she carefully studied the room full of nobles and their servants.

The knight, fully in the service of Ser Landry, shook his blond head, against stealing a glance to the Templar beside him.

"Can't you just sense him?" the knight asked, frustration in his voice as the pair continued their slow rounds of the great hall.

Shaking his head, the Templar – Ser Cauldry – answered, just as frustrated as his companion, "It doesn't work that way," he carefully explained, dark eyes scanning the room. "Mages don't just radiate magic. We can only sense them when they open the Veil. And this one is smart," a scowl formed on his rugged face as he spared a glance to the younger male. "Just like the other night. I had no idea that Orlesian bitch had a leashed mage until he showed himself and began to cast."

"What good are you then?" Ryan teased his friend, enjoying the look of frustration that crossed those dark eyes. Instead of answering, knowing that the knight was only trying to get an emotional reaction out of him, the Templar continued to step around the chambers, senses open wide to any fluctuation to the Fade, eyes seeking out the face of the one they sought.

"The Wardens people are looking, too," Ryan muttered as he spotted the blond elven male skirt from shadow to shadow. Cauldry looked over, impressed. No one should have noticed the Crow, however Erlina's people and the Wardens had, with the assistance of the Lady Isolde and her pretty maid, Gail, coordinated their efforts to search out the blood mage that had caused such havoc.

"Her own mages are searching as well," Cauldry muttered, eyes settling upon the slim figure of the elderly mage, Wynne.

"Will that interfere with your own…ah…sensing?" the knight was uncertain how to call it, but knew Cauldry would understand regardless.

"Not really," the Templar assured the other. "A casting blood mage – even if he is not using blood magic – sends a different…signature along the Veil than a mage using the more…" here he frowned, struggling for a description that would best describe the differences between the magics and mages. "well, let's say more approved magics."

"Approved?" Ryan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh, you mean Chantry taught?"

Chuckling softly, giving a slight nod, Cauldry replied. "Yeah. Chantry taught."

Eyes following the path the elderly mage followed, Ryan nodded. "Well, at least their own use won't hurt our hunt."

"Shouldn't, anyway," Cauldry muttered quietly, ignoring the questioning glance of his friend. "Come on," he pushed his friend forward. "We've a blood mage to catch."

DA:O 

Those within the chamber stepped back, forfeiting their stances within the Great Hall, offering up space upon the tiled floor for the pair of warriors. Excited voices rose, eager for the display of one of their greatest warriors against a Grey Warden. The word 'epic' had circulated from mouth to mouth. Others, fully aware of the significance of the duel, watched with anxious eyes, concern crinkling the corners of eyes and mouths, as the pair faced off against one another, offering up first a salute to the other, before bringing shields to bare and swords unsheathed.

It was difficult for the young Grey Warden to shut out the excited whispers and sounds surrounding him. He purposefully did not – would not, could not – look over at Adela, whom he knew would be standing, biting at her lips, anxiety written clearly upon her face. Just the thought of her caused his heart to skip and a sick feeling to erupt in his stomach. He had to focus, force everything else out…

He raised honey gold eyes to the cold blue orbs of his opponent. The anger and hatred that emanated from those otherwise blank eyes…the young man mentally shook himself. How could Loghain appear so aware and yet not? It was distressing. He knew he could not hurt the man irrevocably. However, there was no way he could allow himself to be sorely wounded, either.

Bracing himself, he gave a short nod, more to himself than to his opponent.

A snarl crossed the craggy features of the Regent as Loghain raised his shield and sword, rushing forward to slam his buttress against the griffon adorned shield held by the younger man. Alistair braced his feet, leaning forward, leading with his shield, sword held up and away, fully meeting the powerful rush of the veteran. With a slight heave, the Grey Warden pushed forward with his shoulders, elbows locked as he pushed back against the strength of the other man, taking one careful, slow step forward as he gathered strength in his legs. Then, with a shout, the Grey Warden jumped forward, his legs pressing forward, his arms pushing out in one quick, strong motion, to knock the shield of the older man aside. He continued his momentum, shield connecting with Loghain's chin and chest, forcing the man to stumble backwards, shield and sword swinging out in disarray against the surprisingly powerful move.

Blue eyes narrowed as Loghain pulled his shield back toward himself, sword held up and out, as he traced the path of his foe, who circled him, gold eyes wary and watching.

DA:O

Soft brown eyes scanned over the heads of the nobles, focusing upon the figure of the Queen. A frown crossed the scarred woman's face as she took in how Erlina remained by Anora, but took note that any guards were still too far from their monarch for her comfort.

"Gail," Isolde spoke in quiet tones, a slender hand reaching out to grasp her maid's forearm. Startled, with a jump, the elven servant turned to face her mistress.

Isolde did not face the elven girl, but continued to watch out over Anora and Erlina. Frowning, the red-haired elf's eyes followed her mistress's gaze, the frown deepening as she realized Isolde's concern. With a quick nod, the agile elf skipped though the crowds, pulling free a dagger from her boot as she neared the elven bard and royal. Sighing as she watched Erlina and Anora nod in acceptance of the younger elf's presence, Isolde turned her attention back to the duel.

DA:O

The jarring feeling ran up his arm as Loghain's sword connected – heavily – against his shield, the rattling feeling rushing to his face, settling into his teeth. Forcing himself to unclench his jaw, Alistair pushed outwards with his shield, gaining a couple of feet between the pair of combatants. Carefully placing a foot behind him, the young man lengthened the distance, bringing his shield up to once again deflect a ringing blow from the general.

Both men were breathing hard, neither having scored a hit upon the other while wearing each other down. Sweat dripped down into his eyes, and Alistair blinked rapidly, but managed to keep from bringing his sword hand to his face to wipe the fluid from his eyes.

Loghain appeared just as winded, however managed to maintain that cool, detached demeanor. Alistair scowled at that as he wondered if that was the man's usual fighting stance, or simply another aspect of the blood magic that controlled him.

Alistair honestly hoped to never find out. Loghain was far too skilled an opponent to want to engage more than once.

The sudden charge by the Regent brought the younger man out of his brief revelry. Chastising himself, he quickly brought up his shield to block the vicious swing of the man's long sword. The jarring feeling caused tingling in his hand. However, instead of backing away, Alistair braced his legs and shoulders, elbows locking as he gave a powerful shove forwards. Loghain's sword was braced firmly against Alistair's shield, the Regent's shield pinned close to his body, forced against him by the sheer weight and power of his foe. Hand still holding onto his own longsword, the Grey Warden punched out with his swordhand, connecting solidly with Loghain's now exposed shoulder. Cursing as he stumbled, Loghain tried to step backwards, away from the determined younger man. Alistair met him step for step, keeping their bodies close, preventing Loghain from being able to strike out with either sword or shield. Of course, their present positions prevented Alistair from utilizing his sword or shield; however, it made no difference. His purpose was to keep Loghain busy, with luck thereby keeping the blood mage focused upon the battle between the two. And allow those who searched the chamber for him to locate him.

All without causing harm to the furious man he was now pinned against.

DA:O

Zevran stood, back against the wall, as golden eyes scanned the room. The crowd within the Great Hall had converged closer to the center of the vast chamber, leaving only a few scattered around the perimeter, everyone eager for the outcome of the duel between the legend of the past and a member of the legendary order.

A small frown formed upon the elf's handsome face as he turned his attention away from the combatants. The damned mage had certainly made it difficult to locate him.

The frown faltered as his eyes settled upon a head of dark blond. Carefully, he moved forward, slipping easily from shadow to shadow, eyes fixed upon the head of dark blond as it slowly revealed broad shoulders adorned in the fine material of an expensive tunic. Shifting carefully, moving to take a stance to the side, the elf focused upon the young man just feet away as the youth moved a fine boned hand to brush aside unruly blond locks, his dark blue eyes fixed upon the pair circling one another in the chamber's center.

Disappointment flooded the elf's body as he realized the man before him was far too young to be the mage he sought. Scowling, he turned, grasping hold of the wall hanging, and easily pulled himself up to the balcony above.

Perhaps a better vantage point…

DA:O

Sword clanged against shield, the echoes of metal upon metal ringing throughout the vast chamber. Blood trickled down Loghain's face, forehead to chin, from the thin cut Alistair had managed to deliver during the battle. The younger male had not escaped the exchanged unharmed, as evidenced by the blood streaming from a gash in his cheek.

Deciding that watching her husband battle against her friend would serve no purpose, Adela had turned from the scene – reluctantly, fearfully – to add her own ears and eyes to the search for the wily mage. That none of them – not Zevran or Leliana, any of their own mages, nor any of Isolde's agents – had managed to locate the man caused a great deal of concern for the elf.

He was here. He had to be. The level of control over Loghain – especially in the heat of a battle…she hung her head briefly. At least, that is what she would assume. Despite her own flagging connection to the Fade, the young elf had very little knowledge on the workings of magic. She could only assume that he had to be present to exert the amount of control over his puppet as was obvious.

That was her hope. If Arawn did not need to be present to continue to control Loghain…she shuddered at that trail of thought, not liking the direction it took.

No. He had to be here. Everything else…after every other loss and betrayal, for each death and blood spilled…she could not bear the thought of adding yet another such loss to the every growing list of casualties.

Not one more. Frustration clearly etched upon her face, the elf glanced up, to where stood a statue of Andraste, the prophet's gentle face downwards turned, seeming to be looking directly at her. A small, determined smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she returned the gaze to the Maker's Bride. Not the most devote of Andrastians, she still felt inspired as she stared up into the gentle features of the long dead woman. Maker's Bride or not, she had accomplished much, against greater odds, and foes far deadlier than those she now faced. The Blight still raged within their borders, darkspawn had erupted like black, vile magma to the surface, tainting everything with their vile touch, killing indiscriminately. If she had any say in it, no more would be lost to these senseless political mechanisms. Not while the Archdemon and its minions continued to terrorize the very land her mother had shed blood for decades before.

She stepped away, pulling her bow free from her shoulder as she stalked away from the dueling pair. If she had any say, no more innocents would perish to those who sought power.

DA:O

The tiniest of smirks crossed Arawn's face as he watched the elven assassin back away and establish a new vantage point from above. The glamour was working perfectly. Turning, he refocused his attention to the battling pair, frowning as he took note of the stumble Loghain had suffered during the mage's brief distraction. Establishing a firmer connection, he allowed his face to relax as the elder warrior reengaged the Grey Warden, pushing the younger man back, feet dragging against the floor with a shrieking cry as his metal clad feet scraped backwards against the ancient stone.

DA:O

Cauldry stopped abruptly, causing his companion to stumble slightly at the loss of his presence at his side. Turning, Ryan twitched a brow at the look of utter concentration that crossed his Templar companion's face.

"There," the Templar turned, raising a hand ever so slightly in a direction at the perimeter of the crowd.

Stepping closer to the Chantry warrior, Ryan tilted his head closer, whispering. "That our mage?"

With a slight nod, the Templar turned to face the knight, giving the appearance that he had not detected anything. "Our blood mage just gave himself away with an increase of magic." There was a frown upon the young Templar's face. "He didn't open the Veil to the Fade wide, however, the stench of blood is within the flow itself."

At his friend's words, the knight scrunched up his brow, taking a sniff of the air. "I don't smell anything," he advised, turning his frown upon the Templar.

Chuckling at the expression upon his secular friend's face, Cauldry shook his head slightly. "It's not a thing you can sense with your nose, idiot," his chuckle earned him a glare. "It's still magic, still implementing the Fade, but it's enhanced with the vileness of blood magic. I can feel it, and smell it, using my Templar skills."

"Oh," came the intelligent reply. "So, okay, then." Ryan lifted his eyes, scanning over the heads of those gathered within the chamber. "Can we please go and get the guy now? Just knowing he's free is really giving me the chills."

Shaking his head at his friend's over exaggerated shiver, Cauldry nodded. "We'll circumnavigate the crowd," he instructed as he resumed their prior path. "If he gets the idea I've got him targeted, he'll move or even shut down some of his power."

"And then we'll lose him," Ryan finished, the Templar nodded in affirmation. With a shrug of his broad shoulders, the young knight stepped to the Templar's side. "Okay, then. Let's go catch us a blood mage."

DA:O

Silverite screeched along the steel of the shield, sending a shiver up Alistair's spine as he pulled away from Loghain, cross-stepping backwards, Duncan's sword held outwards, the runes along the blade's length dancing with the flickering of the lamps that lined the walls and the overhanging candleabras.

Flamelight flickered within the dulled, cold eyes of his adversary. It was then that Alistair realized just how much control the blood mage have over the elder statesman.

His eyes should have blinked.

A cold dread flowed through his body as he continued to side step each assault from the older man. Raising his shield, he deflected one quick swipe of that deadly blade, tilting his shield downward the drive the blade toward the floor. Face remaining impassive, Loghain lunged backwards, dragging his sword with him before it could smash to the floor.

Panting heavily, Alistair stepped back, warily watching as his opponent circled the front of him. _Was the mage simply tapping into Loghain's existing skill_? He wondered. _Or, was he perhaps giving the older warrior more power? _A frown formed on his face as he tried to recall his lessons on blood magic. Nothing in his years of Templar training had prepared him for this type of adversary.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his sword and shield just in time to meet the sudden charge of Loghain and his blade. Sword clashed against sword, shield to shield as the two men stared into each other's eyes…one set honey gold filled with concern and dread, the other icy blue completely empty, void of emotion.

DA:O

Keen blue eyes narrowed down the length of the arrow, delicate fingers lightly holding the bowstring. Movement below had caught her eye, and she watched as the young knight and Templar made their way around the perimeter of the chamber.

Lifting her red head slightly, Leliana watched their body language, how their heads were bent toward one another, eyes sharp and alert, focused upon one area. She nodded her approval as they straightened, eyes once more scanning the area, still on the search for the renegade blood mage.

The bard knew the pair had located their quarry. Their very body language had screamed it to her. Once again she sighted down the arrow, moving slightly to follow the path the pair's eyes had traced mere moments ago.

A delicate red brow quirked upwards, and she pulled her bow down, eyes seeking upwards, scanning over the balconies and draperies. As her eyes settled upon one lithe form, it turned toward her. She gave the slightest of nods, chin tilting toward the pair of warriors on the floor below. The figure seemed to glance downwards and then gave an acknowledging tilt of his own head.

She watched as Zevran grasped hold of the drapes hanging to the side of the balcony he had perched upon and swung out onto it, gripping it tightly as he lowered himself quickly to the floor. The assassin blended into the surrounding shadows as the bard retook her prior position, making certain to appear as though she was still searching out their prey.

DA:O

Fully focused upon his puppet, Arawn barely took note of the chill that passed through, over and around him. Until his focus faltered and his magic failed, and Loghain fell to the floor at the chamber's center, a puppet with its strings cut.

Scowling, a tightness formed in his chest as he turned – slowly – taking note of the approaching knights. That scowl deepened as he took note of the downturned sword crest upon one of the knight's shield.

The Templar said something to the knight, and the pair advanced quickly upon the blood mage. A dark sneer crossed his handsome face as he pulled free a dagger, readying it to plunge into the flesh of his arm.

Shouting out to attract the attention of those surrounding the dangerous mage, Ser Cauldry stopped, a look of intense concentration forming upon his features as Ryan quickened his step toward the mage. A flash of white light burst forth from the Templar's tensed form, engulfing the blood mage in its brilliance.

Screaming in pain, the mage slumped forward, clasping his dagger tightly. A pair of arms wrapped around from behind, clamping his arms firmly to his sides. Struggling against the pain of the Smite as well as against the strong arms holding him, Arawn cursed at his unseen assailant, glaring at the approaching knight.

Stepping backwards suddenly, kicking out with his foot, he managed to take his captor by surprise, loosening the other's hold upon him. Yanking one arm up, he elbowed the other, connecting solidly with the man's face. Turning, still caught up in the other's arms, he was surprised to see he was held firmly by the elven assassin.

"Fool!" he spat out, twisting the dagger in his hand to try and strike out at the elf with.

"Ah, ah, ah…" Zevran breathed in the other's face, a strong, long fingered hand already capturing the mage's daggerhand. "Mustn't cut." Chuckling, Zevran bent nearer. "Look up, my dear man. You will see that escape is all but impossible."

Scowling, the mage's blue eyes sought upwards, taking in the form of the Orlesian girl, bow in hand, arrow notched, bowstring held taut. The girl gave the mage an insolent wink and flirty grin as she made it obvious the deadly missile was aimed upon him.

Tightening his grip, Zevran twisted the mage's hand painfully and then gave the taller man a yank, twisting him around just as Ryan and Cauldry made it to their side. Cauldry made quick work of binding the mage's hands – thumb to thumb, fingers to fingers – and then his wrists, carefully immobilizing them so that he could not make use of them. Pulling out a handkerchief, he then tightly bound the mage's mouth before stepping back and admiring his handiwork.

"Hmmm…" Zevran said as he circled the mage and then cast an appreciative gaze over at the tall Templar. "You know…." The elf purred at the taller male, "that technique of yours could come in handy in…so many other situations." He graced the human with a grin before adding, "Say now…are you free for parties?"

Flushing darkly, the Templar frowned at the playful elf as Ryan turned to assist Leliana, who had scampered down from her balcony, using the drapes in a similar fashion as Zevran had.

"I think perhaps we should rejoin our companions," Leliana said once she was at Zevran's side.

With a nod, the pair of rogues stepped away from the knights as Cauldry took Arawn in hand and led him toward the Warden and her fellows.

DA:O

Adela watched as the rogues and knights pushed their prisoner forward, the crowd of nobles and their retainers parting to offer the group passage. Whispers arose as the Chancellor of Ferelden passed by them, bound and gagged, held firmly by one of Ser Landry's knights and the Templar.

Zevran and Leliana walked closely behind, eyes keen upon the crowd, certain that Arawn could not have possibly have been alone within the Great Hall.

Riordan stepped from his place in the back, where he had watched the events unfold quietly but with great curiosity. Moving to Adela's side, his keen, dark eyes still fixed upon the bound mage, he murmured to the elven warden. "You must be aware, Commander," he said in his low, Orlesian tinged voice, "there is an opportunity here."

Brow furrowing in a fierce frown, she glanced up at the tall male. The scraping of metal upon stone caught her attention and she turned, watching as Alistair bent down to assist a dazed and unsteady Loghain to his feet.

"Opportunity?" she asked, her eyes never leaving the bent forms of her husband and friend.

"Arawn Amell is a powerful mage," the senior Grey Warden remarked, eyes once again upon the approaching group. "He would make an excellent Grey Warden."

Eyes flashing as she spun to face the human warden, Adela gritted her teeth. "What did you just say?" she demanded as she gripped her daggers tightly.

"We Grey Wardens take those into our ranks who would best be used to defeat the Blight," Riordan intone very calmly. "Mages are excellent weapons against the darkspawn. Blood mages even more so. We need his power."

By now, the bound mage and his captors were mere feet from the Grey Wardens; Alistair, supporting the bulk of Loghain's weight, nearing. It was obvious, however, by the displeased look upon the younger Warden's face that he had heard Riordan's words and was not happy about his suggestion.

Still holding her daggers in a white knuckled grip, Adela stepped forward, toward the bound mage, angry blue eyes fixed upon the face that was more like Maric's than Cailan or Alistair's were. But, within those eyes, upon that face that seemed so very familiar, she saw none of the warmth and openness that had been upon the deceased monarch's features. This man was cruel, cold, callous…did whatever he wanted to gain power. She still did not understand his motives, why he had worked so very hard to destroy Ferelden, but, at this moment, it didn't matter. He was caught, his evil put to an end. The repercussions of his actions would be felt…she shuddered as she stopped before the man, eyes searching that face for anything that spoke of remorse for what he had done.

She found nothing.

Riordan's words flowed over her, suggesting that this mage – this man – be allowed to take the Joining. To become a Grey Warden.

"His powers are impressive," Riordan persisted as Adela continued to scrutinize the blond man before her.

Blue eyes narrowed as a smirk crossed the handsome features beneath the as he calmly met her gaze.

Shaking her head, Adela never turned to address the senior warden, her eyes remaining upon the captive. "He is a blood mage, Riordan," her voice was strangely flat as she spoke. "He cannot be trusted."

"He will have no other options, Commander," Riordan continued, taking a step passed Zevran, who scowled at the human's back.

By this time Alistair had pushed his way to Adela's side - Roland having stepped forward to take the burden of Loghain from his shoulders - glaring at the senior Warden. "Absolutely not!" he spat, armored hand cutting the air between the two male wardens. "Riordan, this man gained control of Ferelden's highest general," he pointed at a silent Loghain, "arranged for the deaths of our brothers and sisters at Ostagar." Here the young man turned vehement eyes upon the blood mage, who watched with interest in his blue eyes as his youngest brother spat hatred and anger. "Allowed Cailan – our king! – to die at the hands of the enemy as well as killed every noble powerful enough to stand against him!" He did not need to look up to know of the stricken expression upon Fergus' features. "He arranged for Ferelden citizens to be carted off by blood mages for the slave markets in Tevinter," he cast a sorrowful glance at Adela, whose gaze had turned to the stiff form of Loghain. "And yet you think he's Warden material!"

"We need every Warden we can get to stop the Blight," Riordan persisted, dark eyes glancing from the silent elf to the irate man before him.

"No," Adela said, her gaze breaking free of Loghain's broken form to turn to stare at the senior warden. Holding up a hand to his further protests, she shook her head. "I am well aware of the Warden practice of taking just anyone into their ranks – honorable nobles and warriors as well as thieves, murderers and such," she ignored the pained look that crossed the older man's face as she continued. "However, I will not abide them in my contingency."

Her blue eyes lifted to take in where Niall stood at the back of their group then shifted to where Roland continued to support Loghain's weary form. "The Wardens I managed to recruit – although few in number – are honorable, willing to fight and defend our borders. Willing to die if necessary to stop the Blight. This one," she turned a gaze now hardened upon the still smirking form of the elder son of Maric. "Cares for nothing but his own goals. We will not be able to trust him. And I will not have a Warden at my back or the backs of my brothers and sisters, my friends and allies, simply to," here she turned back to Riordan, who was now watching her with understand and no small amount of respect in his eyes, "fill in the ranks."

"Commander…"

"No, Riordan," she shook her head, and then turned to give Alistair a meaningful look. "I respect your experience. You have more knowledge in how the Wardens are run than I do. However, I am the Commander here, and my word is what will pass as law amongst my fellows."

She then nodded to Alistair, who moved away from his fellow wardens, pulling Duncan's blade free of its sheath as he neared Arawn. "Ser Cauldry!" the young Warden called out to the nearby Templar. With a nod, the holy warrior stepped clear of his companions, moving with firm intent as he pulled his own blade free of its sheath.

"Warden Alistair," Cauldry replied with respect.

"We hereby relinquish custody of this blood mage into your care," the Warden replied, blade still held in his hand.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just." The Templar intoned. "You have the thanks of the Chantry and Grand Cleric, Warden Alistair," Cauldry replied in formal tones before turning to the blood mage.

"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond."

Arawn's eyes narrowed with hatred, but he could not do anything with both Cauldry's and Alistair's cleansing powers still working upon his limbs. He could only watch as the Templar raised his blade and then brought it down quickly. There were gasps within the chambers as blood exploded outwards in a great spray as the now headless body of the blood mage slumped to the ancient floor.

"Thank you for your duty, Ser Cauldry," Adela called out from where she remained by Riordan. She could feel Riordan's disappointment, but she found she did not care. Arawn needed to die. To have allowed him within the ranks of the Grey Wardens would have been an insult to all of those who died at Ostagar.

The sudden silence of the room was broken as an anguished scream reverberated through the ancient chamber. A collective gasp escaped those gathered within as the body of the Queen fell lifelessly to the floor as Gail reached out to Anora's falling form and Erlina launched herself upwards into the air, grasping hold of the balcony above them, to engage the tall, broad shouldered form thereupon.


	73. Chapter 73

_Happy Birthday, Wyl! Sorry it's late; it was supposed to be up last weekend/beginning of the week, but the storm, loss of power, etc., kinda slowed things down (I actually finished this up working off the battery of my laptop! *cheeky grin*)._

_And, I do apologize for the cliffhanger in the previous chapter. I hope you forgive me, considering I got the update up so quickly! Yeah, yeah, it's short; but it takes over where I left you all off last time. Hopefully, the next chapter will be up before another month passes._

_As always, my thanks to those who continue to read, favorite, alert and, most especially, review!: Wyl, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville, LegionaryPrime…_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 73_

At first, she could not react. Body went tense, unable to comply with her urgent mental commands to _Move! Save Him! Avenge Him!...Do Something!_ However, she found she could not do so; her legs refused to move – leaden and heavy - her brain barely functioned above the terror of the sight just below her.

Then, it was done. The lifeless – headless – body of Arawn Amell fell limply to the floor, his life's blood flowing out in a great river, spreading across the ancient stone, filling in the grooves, staining the grout with its crimson tide. Her dazed mind barely registered movement as the surrounding nobles and their retainers flinched back as the spreading pool sought out their finely clothed feet.

Hazy mind did not register the collective gasp, the ongoing whispers and shouts that filled the Great Hall. The panic, disgust and fear that fairly tinged the air. All she saw was the body upon the floor. _The body of her beloved_.

And, finally, her body reacted instinctively, moving with quick, practiced grace and skill, leveling the small, dwarven crafted crossbow held in her large hands, and aimed without a thought. The bolt flew through the air, piercing the seam at the shoulder and neck of the Templar's armor.

None noticed the pained gasp and groan that rose from the young man's throat as the bolt found its mark. With quick, intuitive movements, the woman turned, pulling back the cradle, slipping in a second bolt, and aimed without thought.

Releasing the triggering mechanism, she sent that second bolt flying through the air, watching as it found her target, flying true at the blonde queen, piercing through the fine silk of her gown, straight through the delicate flesh beneath, to pierce the beating heart beneath.

An agonized shriek filled the room, bringing Cauthrien from her stupor in time to back away, dropping her crossbow, and pulling free her short sword. Her greatblade – the Summer's Sword, a gift from Loghain from when she had been knighted and inducted into his service – would be too large, to unwieldy for her to use against the enraged elf, who had quickly and easily leaped over the rails of the low balcony, and engaged the knight with fury, anguish and anger guiding her twin blades.

DA:O

Niall was the first to Cauldry's side, assisting the Templar to the floor as he gripped the bolt protruding from his shoulder. Ignoring the bloody mess from Arawn's still form, Niall, with the assistance of Ryan, cut the strappings for the Templar's shoulder and arm guards free, carefully removing them so that he had free access to the bolt sticking from his flesh.

Whispering words of encouragement, the warden mage grasped the bolt tightly, pulling it free with one hand as he brought healing magic to the other, sending it flowing through the injury and into the Templar.

Ryan watched the open display of magic with awe in his eyes as Cauldry turned grateful eyes upon the brown eyed, mousey mage at his side. Eyes closing in relief, the Templar allowed the feeling of healing power to flow through his shoulder and down his arm, up his neck while Niall merely allowed the smallest of smiles to cross his broad features.

DA:O

Frantic. Overwhelming fear gripped hard and refused to release. Her breath caught tightly in her throat, the elven Warden leaped away from her companions, dashing and weaving between the cluster of noble bodies and their retainers, dodging between where space allowed, simply bowling through where none existed.

Anora's descent to the floor seemed painfully slow to the elf as she grasped hold of one clothed shoulder of the nobleman who refused to move out of her way. Tugging fiercely, her feet left the floor, knees tucking close to her body as she vaulted over the surprised human's head, tucking closer to roll to the floor, regaining her feet quickly as she skittered across the stone, desperate to make it to her friend's side.

It was surreal, almost a horrid dream, a feeling she had experienced before. And, as she flew, a dull roar inside her head, her ears, she slid to the ground upon her knees, to land beside the bleeding form of her friend, her queen. Adela choked as she realized that she had felt the same uncontrolled, almost animalistic fear she had as Cailan had met his death at Ostagar, more than a year prior.

Yet, here, as unlike then, she was aware – far too aware – of every minute detail: the gasps and murmurs rising from noble throats, as individual as each person who breathed the utterance; the air as it cooled along the sweat of her brow; how hot and heavy her very blood ran through her veins; the smell of burning candles, scented wax and blood. Far too much blood rose upon the air and drifted along its current.

Her eyes focused now, ignoring everything else, as they teared and blinked, turning to focus upon the far too still form of the human woman upon the stone floor.

The bolt – small, black metal – protruded from the queen's still chest, blood seeping from the wound, staining the fine silk fabric of the bodice of her gown. The elf placed a hand to the human woman's chest, desperate for the feel of a heartbeat or the telltale rise of her chest to indicate she still drew breath.

_Nothing_.

Running footsteps brought the elf aware, and she glanced upwards to watch as Wynne and Anders raced toward where she knelt, their eyes glancing first from the elf to the prone form of the queen.

She rose, allowing both Spirit Healers room to work, knowing that she would be of no use in their efforts. She raised her head, ears continuing to ring incessantly, eyes still blurry, barely making out the struggling form as Loghain - Roland solidly holding him up with each step forward - made his way toward where his daughter lay beneath the frantic, working hands of the mages. She barely took note as Eamon made his way to Alistair's side, the younger of the two men bending his head toward his former guardian, eyes locked to the flooring at his feet as Eamon whispered words into the young Warden's ear.

Gliding around the mages, no longer able to make out the gasps, murmurs, shouts and screams that resounded within the chamber as the rising roar overtook her senses, the shock of the nobles and others barely registering to the stunned elf, Adela moved along on her knees, lifted Anora's head and settled it upon her bent knees, trembling fingers running through the soft, blonde hair upon the human's fine brow.

The feel of the soft tresses through her fingers was the only thing that registered to the elf. The hard work of the mages, the sounds filling the chamber, even Loghain's presence upon the floor by her side, was nothing to her. The only thing that felt real to Adela was the weight of Anora's head in her lap, the feel of her hair between the elf's calloused fingers.

Only when the weight upon her knees lessened did she look up. Looked up to watch as strong men picked up the body of Anora, Anders and Wynne rushing by their side, as they carried the queen into one of the side chambers to allow the mages to continue their work upon the queen in private.

Only then, did she realize that Loghain had settled a heavy arm across her shoulders, and she looked over into his worn, worried and frightened eyes. Tears sprang into her blue eyes as she moved closer to her friend, settling her face upon one strong shoulder as he brought the other arm about her, pulling her close as he bent his face to rest upon the top of her head.

DA:O

Rage flooded the form of the dark haired elf as she lunged forward at the taller, broader form of the human warrior. Cauthrien stepped back, slashing outwards with her shortsword, missing the elf's chest by a breadth as the elven bard twisted her form, bending around the slashing blade as she tucked her arms to her sides, dancing agilely out of the way.

The female knight – former knight – glared as Erlina missed her powerful swing. "Damned knife eared bitch," she muttered, taking special glee in the fact the elf's keen ears picked up the slur.

Erlina's dark eyes narrowed as she skipped to the side, both daggers slashing, crisscrossing before her chest, slashing outwards to drag across the plate of the knight's chest guard. The screech of metal upon metal – silverite across steel – echoed around the battling pair.

Sneering into the face of the smaller female, Cauthrien used her larger frame to push the elf backwards, the sneer widening as the elf's back brushed against the rail of the balcony. One push forward, and the elf would tumble to the hard stone below…

"Why?" Erlina gasped as she tried to twist out of the way, finding herself pinned against the rail, bending backwards to avoid the slashing blade of the enraged knight.

That ugly sneer widened across the knight's plain features, the flickering candle light casting shadows within the gauntness of her features, created by pain and loss. "Discord," came the gasped reply as the knight advanced.

"Marjoline bought you, didn't she?" Erlina asked as she slid out of the blade's way, barely able to push against the rail to bring herself forward, more firmly upon the wooden flooring of the balcony.

"Marjoline?" Cauthrien laughed aloud at that. "That idiot Orlesian was merely a pawn for Arawn." Her voice softened at the utterance of her deceased lover. "For what he suffered, all of Ferelden should so suffer."

Brows furrowing in confusion, realizing that Cauthrien was going mad – or perhaps was already so - Erlina quieted, knowing she would garner no coherent information from the other woman.

Cauthrien's face went still, her face settling into a strangely twisted, impassive mask as she advanced upon the elf. Plate armor protected her from the slashing blades of the bard's daggers. Her brute strength kept the smaller woman off balance, unable to get proper footing upon the small space afforded the balcony. The human knew she could literally crush the knife eared bitch against the very stone wall behind Erlina with ease.

The elf's dark eyes glanced up, over Cauthrien's shoulder. Taking a deep breath, she ducked beneath the sweeping arm of the knight, twisting around to her back to deliver a sharp kick to the back of one knee. Startled, snarling, the knight twisted around, blade leading as she swung blindly at the more agile woman behind her.

As Cauthrien turned to face her, Erlina ducked, having heard the telltale whistle of an arrow released from a taut bowstring. Cauthrien's eyes widened in surprise as the elf ducked beneath the sweep of her blade, and she moved to swing downwards as the arrow – released from Leliana's bow from the adjacent balcony – flew straight and true, finding its mark to deeply embed itself within the right eye of the maddened knight.

Gasping, hands flew upwards to her face, clawing frantically as blood and gore seeped from the wound, around the arrow. Twisting, Erlina barely managed to get out of the way as the knight's heavy body flopped to the floor, convulsing, back arching, heels beating a rhythm upon the wooden flooring of the balcony as hands continued to claw at the missile and blood flowed more steadily, pooling around Cauthrien's twisting head.

Hands gripping the balcony, Erlina pulled herself up to her feet as the knight's tall form finally stilled as life left the warrior's form.

DA:O

Dark, honey gold eyes fixed upon the kneeling, bent forms of Adela and Loghain, watching as guards bent forward to assist Loghain to his feet, maneuvering him to the room where Anora had been taken. Adela stood, alone, eyes focused upon the closing doors. He could see the slump of her shoulders, her body language all but screaming defeat as Eamon continued to whisper softly into his ear.

Visions of blonde and red flashed in his mind. Nothing solid for him to grasp hold of, but that feeling…that absolute feeling of betrayal flooded his very being, and became almost overwhelming as he continued to stare at the defeated figure of his wife. Zevran and Leliana had stepped from the crowds, flanking Erlina, as they made their way toward the younger elf. The assassin bent his head down, whispering something into Adela's ear, and she replied in low tones.

There was a flash of red and he looked up, watching as Roland stepped nearer to Adela, watching as the elven warden lifted her head to her subordinate, nodding at whatever it was that the red haired warden was saying.

And that flash of betrayal deepened, and Eamon continued to whisper into his ear.

All Alistair could feel at that moment was anger and hatred; a deepening of that sense of betrayal. It was not a new feeling; he recalled, dimly, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this feeling only came about whenever Eamon moved this close, tilting his gray head upwards, lips so close to his ear to whisper…words, his breath whispering around his ear, hot and moist. Nothing he could grasp, hold onto, only a feeling. And, despite the feeling of utter betrayal, of yet again being abandoned, left behind, Eamon's presence, his words, soothed the younger of the two, calming him to his core. And so he nodded his head at Eamon's words, not truly comprehending what was being said to him, but agreeing nonetheless.

DA:O

None of the nobles present within the Great Hall would leave without news of the queen's condition. The Grand Cleric had arrived, flanked by heavily armed and armored Templars. Curriers were sent out from those gathered within, as other runners entered the chamber, ready to carry forth news as it was revealed.

Moments passed into long minutes, and those unendurable minutes lengthened into an hour. During that time, the bodies of Arawn Amell and Cauthrien had been removed, placed into one of the free study rooms to the side. Only when word was heard of the queen's fate would any seek to properly see to the traitors' bodies.

Finally, a disheveled and exhausted Wynne emerged from the side room, Anders at her side, an arm wrapped around her suddenly too thin and frail form. Both mages were clearly and utterly exhausted; it was obvious both had been involved in a battle, intent upon saving the life of their queen.

Adela, who felt she knew both former Circle mages quite well, knew, the moment they had exited the chambers, gaunt and exhausted, that Anora had been too far out of their reach. Even their great ability to wield the healing arts had not been enough.

Moments behind the mages Loghain had emerged. His face, already telling the tale of his more than a year servitude at the hands of relentless blood mage, was even more pale, more gaunt, sharper and harsher than Adela had ever seen.

As the words came from him, telling of the passing of their queen, his voice broke, shattered, as tears coursed down his sharpened features. Pale blue eyes rose, briefly, to touch lightly upon Adela's face, before falling again as anguish threatened to overtake him. Adela watched as her lifelong friend – a man who had been a friend to her mother and later her father – took a deep breath, an obvious inner struggle occurring before their eyes. His tall figure straightened, broad shoulders realigned, and his face lifted once again. His voice was stronger, sharper, still ravaged with despair and grief, and yet it rang out over the chamber to once again announce the death of their queen.

And then an uproar from the gathered nobles rose, deafening, as they cried out to be heard over one another, despairing over who would lead Ferelden, not only to see it through the Blight, but throughout the years that would follow.

Adela turned, unable to bear the weight of grief, sorrow and remorse the flooded Loghain's face as he remained rooted, listening to those raised voices. She took note – however peripherally and dimly – that Gail had regained Isolde's side, Erlina hovering behind the two women, distress and sorrow etched upon her fine, elven features. Ryan and Cauldry – the Templar's breastplate having been removed, his shoulder bandaged – stood beside a quiet Niall. Her gaze shimmered and blurred, unable to take in the forms of her other companions, finally resting upon where Alistair remained, at Eamon's side, the elder statesman nodding, speaking to the young Warden through the side of his mouth, as both men met her eyes, and each, in turn, gave her a gentle nod.

Blinking rapidly, she returned the gesture, eyes focused upon the sublime and calm features of her husband as Loghain tried to calm the storm of voices echoing throughout the Great Hall.

DA:O

Amidst the rise of voices came the calls for order, calls for Loghain to see the country through. Other voices were raised in despair, questioning, wondering, beseeching…fearful, wary and weary.

Rising his voice, Loghain called for quiet, and, slowly, excruciatingly, the voices died down. Gasps and even shuddering sobs could be heard over the stillness within the chamber.

For one of the few times in his life, Loghain felt lost, unsure and so far above his own depth. He recalled very little of the time when Cailan had died, his mind having been slowly, painfully and surely taken over by Maric's eldest son. When Maric had passed on, there were calls for Bryce Cousland to have taken the throne. To this day, Loghain felt he owed the man his gratitude for his loyalty and ability to see beyond his own rise in power.

But, now, gazing over the stunned and fearful faces of those within the chambers, he found himself wishing fervently that Bryce had accepted the throne. The man had been wise – far wiser than Cailan – had lived through war and battle. He would not have been upon the battlefield – among the vanguard troops. Loghain was certain – almost beyond a doubt – that the elder Cousland would have lived to continue on with his rule.

Tired blue eyes glanced upwards, toward the younger Cousland. No. The _only_ Cousland. There was the tiniest movement of his dark head. Fergus would not be in any position – any condition – at this time to assume the throne. The man had too much to deal with on his own – his own Teyrnir needing to be rebuilt, his physical and mental strength needing so very much to be restored, his family…only he survived. Distant cousins, certainly, could be brought into the fold; Fergus himself would have to marry and start a new family...Loghain's thoughts shut down there. He could not further plot out what Fergus faced.

There had been – mingled among the shouts and cries – calls for Loghain to assume the throne. However, he would refuse it. He had proven that he could, all too easily, be controlled, his personality and will subsumed by another. Untrustworthy, he would be fortunate indeed to remain an advisor, his own Teyrnir intact.

Those blue eyes settled upon the tall, broad figure of the young warrior currently standing beside Eamon. The statesman's gray eyes were fixed solidly upon Loghain and the former Regent calmly met the younger man's stare before his gaze flickered once more to Alistair's form. The youngest of Maric's sons…a warrior, one who had proven himself in battle, had proven his loyalty to Ferelden and shown that he had what it takes to form armies and gather allies.

Heavy lids closed over the blue orbs.

It would seem that they had run out of options.

They needed to get an ass – any ass at this point – in the throne. To wait for any length of time, especially with the Blight continuing to rage within their borders, would bring about more chaos than they currently faced. The political wrangling would begin; the cries of the common folk would rise, fearful and wondering. To fight a civil war during a Blight would be the ultimate in foolhardiness. And they had already been doing so…as close to civil war as they had ever come while Maric's eldest son pulled the strings to his puppet.

And Loghain was determined that, even in death, Arawn would not succeed in his determination to cast Ferelden into the flames of anarchy.

Ever the statesman, almost as though he knew of the internal struggle within the mind of his fellow noble, Eamon stepped forward, more than ready and willing to offer up what those within the chamber needed the most of at this time.

DA:O

"Ease, everyone," Eamon barely had to raise his voice, strong, firm and confident as it was. It caught the attention of everyone in the chambers, and he allowed a soft, reassuring smile to cross his features. Behind him, Alistair stood, patient and waiting. The Arl could feel Loghain's eyes upon him, could almost feel the gratitude that emanated from his still struggling form. He conscientiously did not allow that smile to widen into a grin as he glanced back, slightly and quickly, to the still and confused figure of the elven warden.

"Our Queen is dead," he stated, sorrow lacing his voice and he paused, allowing for the murmurs that flow around the chambers, never rising overhead, or even seeping to the floor, but hanging, just at ear level, everyone hearing and feeling the sorrow of the loss of their young ruler.

"Normally, in such times, we would hold an election," he turned, meeting the eyes of several of the nobles who had a voice upon the Landsmeet. "But, that takes time. And, unfortunately, with the Blight raging around us, threatening everything we hold near and dear, we cannot afford to take that time."

"Do you make claim to the throne, Arl Eamon?" Alfstanna voiced from above, making it painfully evident that she did not relish that idea.

"No, Bann Alfstanna," the Arl remarked with a knowing little smile. "I do not. I do, however, know of one who could assume the throne. One who has served this country well; one who has demonstrated time and again his worth and value, his devotion to this nation and the legacy of Maric and Cailan, further back to the Silver Knight himself."

"Loghain, then?" asked Bann Bryland, the noble's brown eyes fixing upon the haggard form of the Teyrn in question.

"Nay," Loghain stepped forward, speaking for himself. "I do not wish to claim the throne. I…believe that I am far from being suited for such an honor. Especially given how…easily subverted I had been to the…wiles and abilities of a blood mage."

"That could hardly be construed as your fault, Teyrn," Alfstanna called down, her intense eyes fixed upon the legendary warrior.

"My thanks, as always, for your support, Bann," Loghain bowed graciously. "However, I believe that Arl Eamon has another in mind."

The Teyrn ignored the flip flopping in his stomach, and did not and could not look over to where Adela stood, flanked by the elven assassin and redhaired knight, the pretty Orlesian girl standing just beside her, an arm slung across her frail-seeming shoulders as the mages stood at her back. He knew…knew beyond doubt…who Eamon would put forth.

And, Maker help him, Loghain had every intention to support the bid to the throne. The personal cost could not outweigh the cost to the nation.

He only hoped she would forgive him.

A murmur rose from the throats of those gathered and Loghain lifted his head, glancing to see an astonished Adela take a step forward, only to be halted by the assassin's hand upon her arm. Turning, he watched as Alistair stepped forward, head held high as he stepped to Eamon's side. Frowning, Loghain realized he had been lost in his own thoughts and feelings and had missed Eamon's introduction of Alistair as Maric's youngest son.

"What proof do we have that this is a son of Maric?" came an indignant shout from the balconies. Rising his head, Loghain spied Ceorlic, fuming down upon the gray head of the Arl.

"I do not make this bid empty handed," Eamon responded, voice light and controlled as he met the Bann's glare with a steady gaze of his own. "I have letters from Maric claiming Alistair as his child, and a letter from Cailan stating that he was prepared to claim Alistair as his heir, as his brother, in the unlikely event that he and Anora could not produce an heir."

Silence met the Arl's announcement, broken by Alfstanna once more. "You have these documents upon you?"

Frowning up at her, Eamon shook his head. "Not on my person at this time, no. No one could have predicted an outcome such as this. However, I can produce them within an hour of requests."

The wheels and cogs of each noble's minds churned and whirled, accepting this new information quickly. It had been shocking to learn that a blood mage had controlled their Regent since prior to the debacle at Ostagar. To now be presented with another son of Maric…one who was a hero, one of the legendary Grey Wardens? Again he looked to a strangely silent Adela, whose blue eyes were fixed upon the still form of her husband, her face tight, unreadable. But her eyes…they shone with distress and…understanding. Loghain knew the girl understood what would happen next. She was smart; had been around Court for most of her young life; had listened earnestly whenever Anora and Cailan discussed Landsmeets, had listened intently as Loghain himself muttered and fumed over one unnecessarily pompous procedure after another. The sorrowful gaze with which she fixed Alistair with was painful for the Regent to see, however he did not turn his gaze from her quickly. An pain he felt was nothing compared to her own.

Taking a breath, he turned his attention back to the Great Hall and those gathered within. Clearing his throat, he spoke up, knowing his words would produce the final bit of evidence needed to place Alistair upon the throne.

"I, too, have evidence of Maric's acceptance of the young man named Alistair as his son," Loghain's voice rang throughout the chamber, his discomfort at the utterance clear upon his face, in the almost defeated slump of his body, and in the all too calm manner in which he spoke. He ignored – or tried to ignore – the sharp gasp from Adela and the sudden jerk of her head toward him as he spoke the words.

Those gathered spoke in excited tones, subdued cheers and encouraging words mingling with those of disbelief. As they sputtered and spoke, relief wafting throughout the chamber, Eamon sent one of his servants to gather the required documents.

And still, Loghain could not meet Adela's eyes.

DA:O

Cold shock went through her body as Eamon announced to the gathered nobles that Alistair was Maric's son. That Alistair would assume the throne.

No clearly dissenting voices rose to challenge Eamon's – Alistair's claim to the throne. Only a call for proof. She glanced at Alistair's too calm face, and another spike of fear shot through her. Alistair wasn't decrying the claim; wasn't rejecting the offer of the throne, either for personal reasons or his own Grey Warden duties.

He was accepting of it.

But…why?

And then Loghain had spoken up. Not against the claim, not to proclaim himself or another as candidate to the throne, but to acknowledge not only Eamon's own reasons for putting Alistair forth but to offer further proof of the young man's hereditary claim.

To offer the proof that he was, indeed, Maric's son.

Her knees buckled and had it not been for Zevran's hand – constant, sure, firm and supportive - upon her arm, she knew she would have fallen.

She could feel the others at her back, but their voices, their words, were just static noise, watery and unfocused. Much as her sight as she tried to focus upon the tall figure dressed in full armor beside the Arl of Redcliff.

Through it all, Alistair stood calmly and still, unable or unwilling to look over at her, despite her silent pleas for him to do so.

DA:O

It took barely any time for Eamon's servant to return, handing over the precious documents to his lord. Giving the servant a bare nod, Eamon gently pulled the leathern sheaths open, revealing the heavy parchment – preserved in wax – within. Alfstanna, Ceorlic, Bryland and Wulf stepped forward, each in turn reading the parchments – two from Maric and one from Cailan. Fergus had stepped from his place in the upper balcony, and stood, at Eamon's left shoulder, scanning the documents. Not as familiar with Maric's handwriting as Bryland and Wulf were, Fergus would recognize the handwriting of his friend – Cailan – anywhere.

Each document was as Eamon had described: the first of Maric's had been written shortly after Alistair's birth, requesting Eamon assist with the boy's upbringing as the lad's mother had requested he not be raised royal. That raised some eyebrows but none commented upon it. The second had been written just a few months prior to Maric's disappearance, a little over six years ago. In that letter he had asked Eamon for a status of his youngest son, promising that, upon his return, he would sit down with both sons and find a way for Alistair to be a part of their lives.

Cailan's letter – a single page document – was addressed to Eamon, and dated just weeks before the disastrous events at Ostagar. He made mention of Alistair's induction into the Grey Wardens, and that he wished to meet with his brother.

Each letter was proclaimed genuine. Expectant eyes turned towards the young warrior, who stepped to Eamon's side. With a small wave of his hand, Eamon indicated to Alistair to speak.

With surprising confidence, Alistair raised a hand, garnering the attention of all within. "Lords and Ladies," his voice rang out, over the heads of those gathered, drawing every eye to him. "I may not know politics as well as many of you here," a chuckle, soft and polite, arose from the throats of the nobles. "However," he paused, pacing slightly to stand in front of Eamon, back to. "I know what needs to be done.," his voice rose slightly, carrying further, deeper into the Great Hall, echoing, piercing straight to Adela's heart as every noble seemed to catch their breath at the young man's words. "I can move our armies toward the Blight. It is my duty - as a Grey Warden, as a citizen of Ferelden," here his voice lowered slightly, almost reverently, "As King Maric's son," a murmur of approval echoed his words. "I am ready to take up the throne - the leadership of Ferelden. To carry on the legacy of my father, King Maric. To carry on the legacy of Calenhad, the Silver Knight. To lead our people onwards, not only in victory over the Blight, but toward a future - a history - that every Ferelden would be proud of!"

Cheers rose from the nobles, fists rising into the air as others turned, patting each other on the backs. Almost choking, Adela stepped back, blinking against watering eyes as Alistair's attention, finally, went to her. Their eyes met, and Adela could see the resolve, the sorrow and sympathy within her husband's golden eyes.

"I wonder if he knows what he has just done?" Zevran wondered aloud, eyes fixed upon the still form of the man who had just accepted the crown of Ferelden.

Eyes still fixed upon Alistair's, noting the slight flinch that crossed his face, Adela nodded slightly, pushing down against the rising nausea. Finally, she broke contact, turning away, head bowed as she ducked closer to her circle of friends. "He knows," she whispered softly before lifting her head and, after another moment's pause, left the Great Hall.


	74. Chapter 74

_This probably could have been added to the previous chapter, but I wasn't quite happy with this part, so decided to spruce it up first and then post as a separate chapter. Hope you don't mind…I don't think that last chapter ended with a cliffie (ah, right?),but here you go…_

_As always, my thanks to those who read, alert, favorite and especially review!_

_DragonAge: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 74_

Mere hours after the Landsmeet found Adela and most of her companions locked away in the library at Eamon's townhouse. Loghain, in his capacity of Ferelden's General, had gone to meet with the nobles and other commanders, trying to piece together where the armies of Ferelden stood. He had needed to get to work, to busy himself in the familiar, to ease his own grief. Fergus, still having a small army of Highever's soldiers at his command, had accompanied the elder noble to the meeting.

Prior to taking his leave, Fergus had offered up his family's in town estate for Adela and her companions to use.

"It's just on the backside of the Palace District, along the North Wall," he had said before departing with Loghain, his dark eyes fixed upon the elven warden, taking note of just how drawn her face was. "It is one of the larger estates in Denerim, with plenty of rooms…" his voice trailed off as he choked on his own growing sorrow. Taking a breath, he said just before turning to leave, Loghain at his side. "Roland will know where it is and how to gain entrance."

The companions planned on taking the young Teryn on his offer. However, Adela had been loath to leave without first knowing, with certainty, where she and Alistair stood.

She had not seen him since the Landsmeet and was growing anxious.

So, here they stood, poring over maps they had already studied and memorized over the weeks of their stay in the capitol.

The elf had become withdrawn, eyes every now and again rising toward the chamber's sole door, shoulders tense, spine straight. Sten had taken a position beside the doorway, eyes focused upon the elf and the others, a rather unusual look of annoyance marring his rugged features, a gleam of anger in his lavender eyes.

Before them, upon the table, were spread several maps. Oghren was bent over one depicting the pass from Orzammar toward the King's Highway. "I'd bet my left nut that the armies'r well past this point," he tapped a thick finger upon the map before pushing the parchment away. Lifting dark green eyes, he shrugged. "Betcha the Brosca kid'll be on 'er way here soon 'nugh with word o'the boyos from Orzammar."

Nodding, Adela turned her gaze back to the maps, completely aware and fully ignoring the concerned looks her friends cast above her head.

She knew that her friends were concerned for her. Zevran and Roland had both been ready to go locate Alistair and 'talk' some sense into Ferelden's new king. Wynne had expressed her own disapproval with a tightening of her lips as Leliana had tried to offer her own sympathy by remaining close to Adela's side, offering a hug every now and again. Niall and Anders continued to glance over at her, concern heavy within their expressive eyes as Sten would glare at the door.

Frankly, the elf was starting to get rather annoyed at her friends, despite their well-meaning attitudes.

Morrigan's offer to turn Alistair into a toad, however, had managed to elicit the smallest of smiles from the elf.

"Morrigan," Adela had said, her voice tight and weary, "if you had the ability to turn him into a toad, I think that you would have done so by now."

The beautiful witch had merely shrugged her slender shoulders gracefully, a feral gleam in her golden eyes. "Mayhaps I have merely been awaiting the ultimate in stupidity from our resident idiot," she said, her smooth tones and archaic grammar flowing over the elf. "I wouldst think that this very moment would constitute the height of stupidity on that fool's part."

Adela had merely shaken her head, ignoring the assent that rose from the others. "He's not stupid, Morrigan," the elf had instead defended her husband, "he is only doing what he thinks is best." Her voice had faltered, fading toward the end of her statement and even Morrigan had ceased her insults, concern twisting her features as her gaze fixed upon her friend.

There came a brief knock at the door before it swung open. Alistair, now dressed in trousers and tunic, stepped through. Behind him, Sten glared at his back, moving forward slightly as the human male entered the chamber.

All eyes settled first upon Alistair's quiet form before slipping to Adela, who had pushed away from the table, hands trembling slightly as her blue eyes – fearful and moist – rose to settle upon the features of the man she loved.

Seemingly noticing Adela discomfort, Alistair raised a hand, brushing the back of his neck in a purely familiar manner. "We need to talk," he stated simply.

Nodding, Adela moved forward, but was stopped by a slender hand upon her shoulder. Turning confused eyes, she looked over to see Wynne at her shoulder, the old mage's faded blue eyes fixed upon Alistair.

"I think that perhaps you should say whatever is needed here, Alistair," Wynne stated firmly, her hand tightening its hold upon the elf, trying to convey that the young woman had her support.

The others in the room nodded their agreement, Oghren muttering a curse under his breath as Anders moved closer to the front, his own brown eyes fixed sternly upon the other man.

Eyes flashing with irritation, Alistair frowned. "I think that perhaps this is a bit more on the personal side, and not open for a public display."

"Public?" Leliana questioned, a frown forming between her delicate brow. "We are family here, Alistair. Whatever you have to say to Adela affects us as well." She glanced over at Adela, who seemed at a loss for words, before continuing. "We are all rather aware of what you are going to say. Why can't we be here to offer our support for our friend?"

Letting out a shaky breath, Alistair looked over at Adela, who was now staring at her feet. Nodding, he then said. "Adela," the elf raised her head at the utterance of her name. "You know what I need to do..."

Adela nodded her head, eyes cast downward. She knew…she understood…but she so very much wanted…

There was a sharp curse from behind and the elf turned to watch as a snarling Roland surged forward until he stood mere inches from Alistair, the junior Grey Warden growling in the other man's face, "You can't just do that without good reason…" he began, surprised when the younger male's frown tightened into a scowl and his hands flashed outward, pushing the red-haired man back.

"Reason?" Alistair snarled right back into Roland's face. "Oh, I've got reason!" He looked over at Adela, who was watching the pair, confusion and hurt clearly upon her face. Looking back at the redhead, he continued. "I just thought that I would…spare her the humiliation and just leave it at a racial difference for annulling our marriage!"

"What reason?" Adela's voice was small and confused as was the expression that crossed her face.

Pushing past Roland, Alistair took the few steps to stand directly in front of the elven woman he had loved. "I saw you!" He flung his arm backwards toward where Roland stood, glaring at him. "Ser Perth saw you! It explains a whole hell of a lot of things!" He bent down, practically yelling in the startled girl's face. "How long did you think you could keep that up, anyway?"

Stepping back, Adela raised her face. "What are you talking about?"

"You were seen, in the gardens at Redcliff, the gardens here," the irate young man turned to return Roland's glare. "with _him_!" His hands flew up, tangling briefly in his hair before releasing and slipping to his sides. " I was an idiot! Of course that's why you took him with you on missions and errands!" He turned back around to face Adela, pain mingling with anger upon his reddening face. "Why I was always left behind…" his voice trailed off, but he continued to glare down at the smaller woman.

It took a moment – even as the others in the room comprehended what Alistair was accusing Adela of – for it to click within Adela's mind. As the realization came, she shook her head, stepping forward a step, a hand rising toward the man.

"No," the word was whispered, and filled with as much pain as the elf could possibly fix within the single syllable. "No," her voice strengthened slightly, and a pained expression crossed her face as Alistair shook his head, backing away.

"I know what I saw," he said, defeated, all of the anger having run out of him in a great current. "And I doubt Ser Perth would lie about such a thing." He fixed his gaze – now softer – upon the girl as he continued. "I'll just annul our marriage, based on the fact that, as an elf you cannot possibly sit at my side."

"To save face," Adela whispered, all strength having gone from her frame. Wynne's hand had never left her shoulder, and the elder mage now stepped forward, offering her very form, frail as it may seem, as support for the elf's own.

Alistair took a deep breath, frowning. "If you had only told me that I wasn't who you wanted…" he shook his head, turning away so as not to watch as Adela shook her head in denial. "It doesn't matter now, anyway. You and I are through."

With those parting words, he turned on his heel, and left the chamber, his heart tearing apart at the sound of the choked sob that rose from Adela's chest.

DA:O

After the commotion had died down – after the corpses of Arawn Amell and Ser Cauthrien had been removed; after the queen's body had been quietly removed to the Chantry for funeral preparations, Riordan had slipped away. While he felt a certain pity for the elven warden and what he knew would happen, as unhappy as he was that Alistair – going against Grey Warden tradition and protocol – had taken the crown of the kingdom, the senior most Grey Warden knew he had a job to do. And perhaps, events unfolding as they had could be of use to the Grey Wardens, if not now, then in the future.

As the Warden rogue slipped quietly and unseen through the Great Hall and out the front door, he recounted, again, what had happened with regards to the blood mage. He had been sorely disappointed with Adela and her decision not to induct the powerful mage into their ranks. Magic was the most powerful tool the Wardens had at their disposal against the darkspawn; blood magic even more so. And yet, she had not only argued against and denied taking the powerful mage into their ranks, she had only initiated one mage throughout the entire year she had been wandering the countryside, building up her armies. One mage; one warrior.

He shook his head, frowning as he turned down a darkened alleyway, making his way toward the front district of the city.

Never before had he reason to doubt any decision his old friend, Duncan, would make. Certainly the other warden had been more of a rogue among the warden ranks than any other he had known. Especially in his younger days. He had fought against becoming a warden, had tried his hardest to escape, even after the Joining, determined to live as normal a life as he could, despite the Taint coursing through his veins. However, especially during this past decade, Riordan had taken note of a shift in the other Warden's personality.

And he had not been the only one to take notice.

No longer was he rebellious or argumentative; no longer did he fight tooth and nail against the orders handed down by the senior wardens within their ranks, or attempted to show restraint or mercy for those who did not wish to become Wardens. Almost overnight, just over ten years ago, a calm acceptance had come over the other man, and he had become the perfect Warden, obeying orders without question, inducting anyone worthy of the title – anyone of skill and talent – into their ranks. Riordan had witnessed – more than once – Duncan conscripting a reluctant candidate, even to the point of forcing the unwilling at the point of one of his deadly daggers, to partake of the Joining.

Riordan had never figured out Duncan's sudden change of heart; however he, like so many others, had rejoiced in the change.

Dissention among the ranks of the Grey Wardens was never encouraged. Riordan knew that, had his friend continued on with his recalcitrant nature, the First Warden would have had no other choice but to…permanently remove the brash influence, however distasteful and wasteful such a decision would have proven.

Skirting a crowd near the front gate, the elder Grey Warden easily slipped by the guards, passing through the gates, turning southward.

Adela would be a problem. He knew this. She had strong candidates for the Joining currently within her ranks, powerful magi, skilled warriors and talented rogues all. He snorted as he jogged along the highway, feeling the pull to the Taint within his blood. Upon his return from this brief scouting mission, he would need to sit down with the young Commander. And, if she would not see reason, take the necessary steps to ensure that they had the necessary Grey Wardens within their ranks to stop the Archdemon.

DA:O

There was a commotion at the front gates. Large groups of humans were gathered, talking in excited voices, children running around, weaving between the legs of the adults, playing games of tag as their parents talked about a near miracle that had recently occurred.

Slipping virtually unnoticed among the taller humans (and completely ignoring the desire to, well, perhaps slip a purse or two into her pocket), Natia caught only brief phrases from the nearby humans.

"King" and "Maric" stood out the most from what garbled words she could – or rather would take the time to – make out. All well and good, she thought as she made her way from the front gates to the market place, wherein she knew the townhouse of that human Arl – Edwin, Andrew…ah, heck! Whatever! Some human noble! – was located within.

The dwarven girl glanced back, a giggle at the back of her throat as she considered the nature of the allies she had left behind at the dwarven camps.

The archdemon wasn't gonna know what hit him!

DA:O

"I don't understand why we have to go in there," the blond elf grumbled, glaring over at the leader of their group.

Their leader, the curly headed mage, Theron, chuckled as he ran a long fingered hand through the unruly locks. "Personally, I'd rather like to meet this Warden Commander," he stated rather simply, glancing over at his friends. Turning, he looked over to where Pol trudged along, eyes wide as he considered the front gates of his former home city.

Noticing the mage's attention upon him, the younger elf nodded, frantic and eager to prove of some worth to the Dalish. "We can go to the Alienage," he tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore Junar's growl. "I mean, we won't stand out so much there, and I'll bet Shianni has heard from Adela by now."

"I still cannot believe that an elf leads the Ferelden Grey Wardens," Junar finally relented, his face easing from the tense scowl he had striven so hard to maintain.

"Grey Wardens, as a group, if not individually, do not tend to allow bigotry and racism to cloud their perceptions of those who are skilled and powerful," Theron said as they stopped before the gates, glancing over at the guards who were eyeing the small group of tattooed elves with wary interest.

Stopping, the trio of elves looked over to the human soldiers as one pushed against the wall, bringing himself to his feet and sauntered over to the trio.

"Oi!" the human male called out, dark eyes suspicious and glaring at the three men. "What you want here, elves?"

With a quick glance back to his companions, Theron stepped forward, bowing slightly at the waist. "I am Theron," he introduced himself, "and these are Pol and Junar, of the Mahriel Clan," the other two nodded their heads at the human. "We are here to offer our clan's aid to the Grey Warden commander against the Blight."

Round eyes widening, the human soldier glanced over at his partner, who had likewise detached himself from his position against the wall and walked over.

"Take care, Mark," the other man stated as he approached the small group. "Kylon made mention that the Warden's allies should be starting to make their appearance here," then he turned to the elves and then, much to the surprise of not only the elves but his fellow guard as well, bowed deeply to the trio.

"Welcome to Denerim." He straightened. "I have word that you pass through these gates, unmolested. You should find the Warden Commander and her companions in the townhouse of Arl Eamon, just off the market place." He frowned slightly, pausing, before adding. "The Alienage is also off of the market district as well. Someone there may also know where to reach the Commander, in case she is not at the Arl's residence."

After taking a moment to regain their composure, the three elves thanked the soldier, stepping around him and through the gates, and into the bustle of the human city.

DA:O

It had been a rather somber affair, the group of Wardens and non-wardens repacking their equipment and supplies, shouldering their packs and making the short journey from the townhouse to the Palace District.

No one had said anything since Alistair had departed, taking his leave. None knew where the young man had gone to, and, at the moment, they could only be grateful that the former (was he former?) Grey Warden chose to leave the estates while Adela and the others packed. While the Arl's townhouse had been perfectly situated to make their plans and await any allies, the atmosphere had thickened, tense and uncomfortable. Isolde had been disappointed, but understanding, and had sent along several servants to assist the Warden and their companions with their move, sending these servants ahead to the Teryn's estate with the bulk of their gear.

As she turned to thank the noblewoman for her hospitality and assistance, Adela found herself pulled into a surprisingly strong and sure embrace. Her surprise was short lived as she returned the noble's embrace, whispering her thanks.

"Everything works out for the best," Isolde had whispered as the two women pulled apart. A small, sad smile crossed the human's scarred features as she looked into the elven woman's tense face. "It may not seem it now, but, in time, you will see."

Taking a breath, all Adela could do was nod her head in reply. Understanding, Isolde brushed a stray lock of hair from the smaller woman's face. Then, with another nod, the two pulled apart.

Isolde and Gail walked the companions to the front door, and stood upon the entrance stairs, watching as they made their way from the district to their new – temporary – base of operations.

Once they were gone, a determined expression crossed Isolde's face as she turned to her loyal servant. Their eyes met and a silent understanding passed between the two. With a final glance toward the market's center they turned and the pair stepped back into the townhouse.


	75. Chapter 75

_Sorry for this being late. I had planned on uploading this 12/2 but RL happened. *cheeky grin*_

_My thanks, as always, to those who continue to read, follow and review this story. Wyl, Arsinoe de Blassenville, csorciere, Legionary Prime, MemoriesoftheForgottenGuardi an (say that one five times fast!), Shakespira, and Kawaiibentou (a new reviewer!)_

_DragonAge: The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 75_

The trio of elves now stood outside the large, wooden gate, glaring at the aged, stained wood, casting a sidelong glance to the human soldier that stood at attention, warily watching the three well-armed and armored, strangely tattooed elves. Pol turned a baleful eye to the human, forcing a deep scowl to form upon both lip and brow. The guardsman flinched slightly before turning his attention back toward the market place.

As he turned, the scowl formed into a grin, which Junar returned three-fold.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" the blond elf asked of his city-born friend. Pol merely nodded happily as he stepped to Theron's side.

"This is really where our city-bred brethren live?" the Dalish mage asked quietly, dark eyes scanning the length and breadth of the obstruction.

Shrugging slightly, Pol moved forward, pressing a hand against the wood, listening to the familiar creaking of old hinges and dry wood as the portico swung open. "Yeah, well…believe it or not, there are a lot of elves who can't believe that our wild brethren," he turned his grin to his friends, "could live in moving houses."

Sniffing disdainfully, Junar slipped passed the youngest of the three. "Better free and wild than…"

"Easy now, Junar," Theron warned, clapping a hand to his warrior friend's shoulder, causing the beginning of the blond's tirade to fall off. "Let's not insult our brethren."

With a snort, Junar shrugged. "None of them are here now," he pointed out. At those words, Pol flushed slightly. He had known he had been accepted within the Mahariel clan. Junar, as his mentor, had decided that the youngest of the three would receive his Vallaslin prior to entering the battle against the darkspawn. That knowledge caused both excitement and fright for the elf: it was a great honor, an acknowledgment that a young elf had finally reached maturity and adulthood, ready to take his place among the hunters of the clan. However, he had also heard that the process was extremely painful. Although the Dalish would never look down upon a young elf who found the pain too extreme (and hence, causing a delay in the ritual), Pol was determined to show his wild-born brethren that a city-born elf such as he had what it took to become one with The People.

Even with this knowledge, it still warmed him greatly to hear his friend offhandedly commented that Pol was one of The People, and not one of The Lost.

DA:O

Worn and tired, the companions made their way through the noble quarter, thankful that Isolde had sent servants ahead with the majority of their gear. Since Bodahn and his son, Sandal, had set up their merchant wagon in the market district, Adela would have felt badly to ask the kindly merchant to assist with the transport of their supplies.

The Cousland compound was almost as grand an estate as the Palace was, with a great, spanning courtyard cordoned off with a sturdy, intricately ornate front gate of red and white steel. Gardens adorned the borders of the townhouse style home, opening up toward the rear of the property into a great, sprawling, free-flowing garden that currently found its colorful flowers, flowering and fruit trees, and crawling ivies choked with weeds.

Leliana and Morrigan had both hovered around the small elven Warden as she crept up the steps to stand behind Roland, who was currently working the locks of the grand estate. Adela shot the women a look of pure irritation, a frown turning the corners of her generous mouth downwards. Leliana had the grace to look sheepish; however Morrigan simply answered the girl's scowl with a smirk of her own, a raised finely manicured brow and a glint of the eye.

Much of the furnishings within the home were covered with white dust covers, the smell of disuse permeating the air. Roland had stepped in front of the group, frowning slightly as he gazed about him.

"Something wrong?" Zevran asked as he stepped through the doorway and into the large entry chamber.

Shaking his head, the Warden turned toward the elven assassin. "No, not wrong. I'm just…surprised." He shrugged as he turned toward the staircase toward the back of the chamber. "I would have thought Howe would have staked his claim to this estate." He continued to lead the others upstairs, toward where he knew the guest rooms to be situated. "But I guess the Denerim Estates are far more opulent than the Highever Townhouse."

"That's good for us," Niall muttered as he climbed the steps, keeping pace with his lover. "Who knows what condition this place would have been had he decided to, ah, stake his claim."

"Probably thought he had all of the time in the world," Zevran offered, eyes scanning over the settees that lined the back walls at the top of the stairs, taking note of how simply elegant and costly each item must be.

Roland led the others to their chambers before taking hold of Adela's arm and leading her toward the guest room set aside for notable visitors to the Cousland's manor, Haftner following closely at her heel. As they stepped to the chamber's door, the redhaired knight looked down upon his commander. His lips were pulled into a tight, thin line, his green eyes hard, a furrow deep between his brows. The elf looked up, frowning.

"Adela," the former Highever knight began, his voice soft, "about what Alistair said…"

Shaking her head, Adela turned, reaching for the doorknob and slowly turning it. "We don't know what he was talking about," she muttered as she pushed the door open. "He thinks he saw something," she turned to look her friend and fellow Warden in the eye. "We know for certain he couldn't have seen anything." Roland nodded. Adela looked back into the room. "I would have thought that Alistair…" her voice cracked somewhat and she quickly cleared her throat, not looking back up. "…that he would have been respectful enough of our marriage to have given me a clear explanation as to why he was so eager to annul our vows."

She shrugged, now looking up at the human beside her. "And I don't even know if I'm going to be contacted when…"

Frown still in place, Roland placed a large hand upon her shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. Much as he wanted to pull her into a tight embrace, the man knew that to do so would only add fodder to speculation. And, although only their friends were present (and he had no doubt that any of them did not, for a moment, believe Alistair's accusations), he felt prudence would be the best course for now.

And so he gave her shoulder a squeeze, then turned her about and gently pushed her into the quest chambers, Haftner slinking alongside the young elf. She turned her head to offer him a weak smile over her shoulder as he reached forward and pulled the door closed.

DA:O

"Aw, c'mon!" the dwarven lass snarled, kicking the door jam with one booted foot. The human guard at the door merely glared at her before repeating that the Warden and her companions were no longer in residence.

"Well, ain't cha got an idea's to where they went?" the former casteless rogue accused, eyes narrowing as she intensified her glare.

If he was at all intimidated, the human male gave no indication. "I do not know where the Warden has gone," he again informed the impertinent little dwarf.

"Is something amiss?" a soft voice asked from behind the guard. Natia watched with satisfaction as the guard stiffened slightly, casting a glance over one armored shoulder. As she waited, the pretty red haired elf that Natia had met back at Redcliff stepped into the doorway.

"Really, Gervais," the elf playfully scolded the human, who had the grace to blush slightly at the elf's gentle teasing. "Don't you know that this is the Queen of Orzammar's own Scout?" The male, Gervais, shook his head, casting a frown at the tiny dwarven girl upon the stoop. "Well, now you know. And, besides," she added, tilting her pretty head, "anyone asking after _The_ _Warden_ should be allowed admittance to speak with either the Arl or Arlessa."

"But, Mistress…" the guard began to complain, eyes slanting back toward the roguish dwaf with anxiety, but Gail merely shook her head.

"No _buts_, Gervais. If the Master should learn that you had – however unintentionally – delayed any of The Warden's allies, well…" she left it hanging, smirking at the discomfort that crossed the young man's face.

"Ah, right, sorry, Mistress," he turned toward the dwarf, visibly swallowing his pride, "And, please accept my most sincere apologies, Scout." He offered a bow, and then stepped out of the way as Gail stepped out of the doorway, indicating the dwarf to follow her to the small courtyard's entrance.

"Humans can be such arrogant asses at times," the red-haired elf muttered, shaking her head at the dwarf, who giggled at her words. "Now, then," Gail continued once they reached the entrance to the estate's grounds. "The Warden and her companions have gone to the Cousland Estates over in the Palace District."

Natia paled, recalling how difficult a time she had just reaching the market district. Still not quite used to her current status, she feared that the presence of a casteless in the noble quarter would raise a ruckus, and she'd really prefer to avoid that if at all possible. She really did not want to embarrass her Queen or her sister.

While Gail did not understand the source of the dwarf's sudden discomfort, she did recognize that the dwarf was uncomfortable nonetheless.

Placing a placating hand upon her shoulder, the elf gave her a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry, dear," she said kindly, smiling into the dwarf's large eyes. "If you'd like, I can take you there."

Sighing heavily, the dwarf nodded. "That would be great!" she said enthusiastically, certain she had just made a new friend of the pretty elf.

Smiling back at her, Gail nodded. "Just a moment," she said, holding up one hand as she trotted back to the front door. After giving instructions to Gervais that anyone else coming here asking for The Warden either be shown in or given directions to the Cousland Estates, she turned back to lead the young dwarf away.

DA:O

Ice blue eyes glared down at clasped hands, held tightly upon the cold wooden surface of the table. Around him, voices rose and fell, emotions running high, filling the air itself with tense electricity.

The Landsmeet had gone on since dawn, with all of the nobles accepting the young Therin as their king, Eamon beaming proudly at the tall man's side. The Grand Cleric had declared Alistair's marriage to Adela annulled, as though it had never happened, thus allowing the nobles to accept Alistair without any concern about his producing a suitable heir.

Adela had not even been called to the annulment hearing.

Loghain raised his eyes, fixed them upon the Grey Warden who was now their king.

The Teyrn knew full well that, as an elf, Adela had no rights when it came to an annulment called for by her human spouse. However, he had hoped that Alistair or even the Grand Cleric would show some respect for the woman whom they all entrusted with ending the Blight.

He searched the younger man's face, which was pale and drawn, tension crinkling at the corners of his eyes, lines marring the smooth skin around his mouth. Yes, he was upset.

And that thought pleased the elder man, even though it would offer no consolation to the girl.

Sighing, he rose, stepping back from his seat, turning to watch as the other man who held an equal rank to his own stepped to his side.

Dark eyes skimming over the forms of the nobility scattered about the chamber, Fergus crossed his arms before his chest, a frown marring his scarred face further. "They seem rather….jubilant, considering there is a Blight going on and all." He remarked, almost casually. Loghain, however, could detect the slightest sneer in the younger man's voice. He almost grinned at how much like Bryce the younger Cousland sounded at that moment.

"Why wouldn't they?" Loghain snarled out softly. "They've another Therin ass on the throne."

Fergus turned toward the other man. "And you helped them place him there."

There was no accusation within the younger noble's voice. While Loghain was grateful for that, he felt he did not deserve the calm demeanor offered by the other. "Yes, and in the process, hurt a girl who means as much to me as my own daughter."

He flinched; both men did, at the mention of Anora. Taking a breath, Loghain glanced down, startling slightly when he felt a strong hand settle upon his shoulder. Looking up, he saw sympathy – but no pity – within the dark eyes of the Teyrn of Highever.

"We've much to grieve," Fergus said quietly. "And, unfortunately, many more will come to learn true grief before this is over."

Loghain blinked. He had always known that Fergus – once out of the shadow of his popular father – would come into his own, would show everyone that he was a man of calm wisdom – as had been Bryce – as much as he had been a man of the blade. The words spoken – so calmly, almost belying the other man's own terrible grief – were far too honest, too true, to ignore.

Loghain nodded, eyes going once again to Alistair, who was now holding a quiet discussion with the Grand Cleric Perpetua. "It would have been nice, however, to have prevented some harm." He muttered, thinking Fergus could not hear him.

The other man had, however, and the hand upon his shoulder tightened briefly before releasing him. "We have a war to win," the Teyrn of Highever remarked, causing Loghain to look over at him once more. Once he was certain he held Loghain's attention, Fergus continued.

"I have had the distinct pleasure to get to know Adela and her crew. She will hurt. Without a doubt. The girl has difficulty reining her emotions in. She feels so much; almost too much at times. However," his dark eyes intensified as they bore into Loghain's own, "she knows that she has a job to do. One only she can accomplish. She won't falter. Not over a broken heart; not over the death of friends…not until she is either dead or the Blight ended." He took a deep breath then, head drooping slightly. "And, once that time comes, she will need all of the good friends that she has, to help put her back together."

Again, Loghain flinched. To think that Adela's slender shoulders had to hold so much….he nodded in agreement. He may not like it, but the truth was the truth, regardless of how else he would have it.

"The Warden Commander and her group are staying at my townhouse," Fergus informed the other. "I am certain she would welcome a visit from you."

Nodding, Loghain gestured for the other to lead the way. The Landsmeet had been called to break. He would take this time to check in on Adela.

DA:O

He had sensed it…that dark, twisting current, dancing along his senses, calling to the Taint within his blood. It was distant as of yet, barely palpable, just beyond the peripheral of his finely trained senses, but he could still hear the faint siren call of the Archdemon.

With a frown, he pulled himself away from his tainted instincts, dark brown eyes scanning the horizon as he reached out with his senses, seeking any darkspawn that may lurk along the trails. As suspected, he sensed very few. With the bands of elves, dwarves and humans that were currently scouting the current stretch of road – both from the roadside itself and deep within the surrounding trees – the Grey Warden had expected any darkspawn presence to be lacking.

With a glance upwards, his eyes searched the skies, taking note of the swirling torrents of the clouds above, dark as any storm cloud, battling with the waning light and warmth of the sun for dominance.

The frown turned deeper and darker as he settled back before the weakly flickering campfire he had set for himself. This Blight was proving to be far different from any other recorded Blight.

What should be taking decades – such as the Call of the Archdemon being heard by the Grey Wardens or the vast scourge of darkspawn upon the surface – was taking mere months. It was almost as though the Archdemon had taken a special interest in Ferelden, seeking to make it his own as quickly as possible.

A large hand rubbed across his eyes. Despite how he may feel about Adela as Warden Commander, he had to admit to himself that she had proven more than capable in gathering an impressive army. Add to that the forces of Ferelden's nobility and the royal army, and they may well have a chance at repelling the darkspawn forces.

The knowledge, however, that there were so few Grey Wardens within the borders of Ferelden was still vastly troubling the senior warden. That Adela had not conscripted any of her formidable companions into the Order rankled his nerves. She was letting sentimentality rule her decision making.

And that had to be put a stop to before it proved detrimental to Thedas.

He had been battling with himself over the decision he knew he had to make. As a Grey Warden, it had to be done.

However, he could not, in good conscience, overlook all the good that Adela – in her current capacity – had accomplished. Towns had been saved from the darkspawn; armies of dwarves and elves had been gathered; she had even managed to acquire a group of human warriors that, despite their low numbers, appeared more than formidable enough to face any darkspawn threat.

She had managed to weed the dissenters from the nobility and pulled the rest in line. Even if Alistair had claimed the throne that, too, could accomplish a greater good for the Order once the Blight had been dealt with.

After all, a King who was not only sympathetic to the Order but also a chartered member could only add to the powerbase the Order currently enjoyed.

Despite all the good Adela had accomplished, there were two blatant reasons for why he had to act as he planned.

The first was, of course, her reluctance to conscript the necessary talent into the ranks. The mages from her group alone would prove to be most advantageous against the darkspawn and Archdemon.

The second reason was one he had struggled with for some time. After his initial meeting with the young elf, Riordan had, on several occasions, reached out with his senses toward the elven rogue. While Alistair, Roland and Niall shone darkly to his senses, he sensed none of the Taint within Adela. Yet, he knew very well that she had undergone the Joining.

That condition proved troubling. He could not allow a non-Warden to continue to command a contingent of Wardens. Yet, he knew very well that it was to Adela that many of those she had gathered were beholden and therefore loyal to Adela, not to the Grey Wardens. Thus, she was needed, if as a figurehead if nothing else.

The most worrying aspect of her no longer being Tainted was the implication that Grey Wardens could be cured of the Taint. If knowledge of such a thing became widely known, the senior Warden feared that many who were now Grey Wardens would seek the cure.

And it was that very thing that Riordan could not allow to happen.

Head aching, the roguish Warden tipped his head down, chin to chest, as he considered his options.


	76. Chapter 76

_I had hoped to have gotten this out at the turn of the year, but RL and my muse had other plans. I certainly hope this was worth the wait for you all. A rather emotional chapter for me. Not quite what I had originally planned, though…_

_My thanks, as always, to those who continue to alert, favorite, read and review: Legionary Prime, csorciere, MemoriesoftheForgottenGuardi an, Kayle5, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Wyl, Shakespira, Moonstonez, Kawaiibentou_

_Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 76_

Exhaustion permeated every fiber of her being; all she wanted to do was bury herself deeply under the heavy blankets upon her far too large bed and simply hibernate. Her eyes felt heavy and scratchy, and an ache had settled into her face.

The Blight be damned at this point; all she wanted was to sleep.

However, Natia had arrived at the townhouse, Gail in tow, with news of how the armies Adela had spent over a year collecting were now congregating outside of Denerim, ensconced within the surrounding forests, ready to answer her call. Tired as she was, she was heartened to hear how the Dalish, dwarves, former Werewolves and Chasind were, not only cohabitating peacefully, but working out strategy as well.

Strategy had never been her strong suit. She was rather pleased that the various groups found a way in which to pull their combined strengths and coordinate them.

"The Legion of the Dead is even coming up into the sun!" The Queen's Scout exclaimed, her excitement regarding the legendary division palpable as she bounced upon the balls of her feet, her pretty face flushed with pride. A small smile crossed Adela's lips as the former casteless continued to gush about the Legion. Most of the Legion's make up was from the casteless sect, those who give up their former lives to battle against the darkspawn in the deepest known parts of the Deep Roads. Gail grinned at her fellow elf as the dwarf's enthusiasm brought a rather needed air of energy into the room.

At least something was going right.

The ever enthusiastic Natia had wanted Adela to take her around Denerim, for the casteless dwarf was excited about being able to, not only enter the noble district without anyone calling her filthy names or forcing her to leave but to take the opportunity to tour the market place. Coin was burning a hole in her pocket and she wanted nothing more than to be able to browse the various stalls as a potential buyer worthy of spending her coin as she wished.

Gail, ever perceptive, had taken note of just how haggard Adela had appeared, and managed to coax the adorable little dwarf into allowing her to accompany her, rather than drag Adela from her own much needed preparations and rest.

Giving the red-headed elf a grateful look, Adela bid the pair a good day, and saw them out, back into the bustling streets of the city.

Once the pair vanished from the townhouse's front steps, she retired to her chambers, firmly locking the door behind her, Haftner her only company.

DA:O

The tattooed elves walked along the dirty paths of the Alienage, sharp eyes scanning the worn down buildings within the ghetto. Pol frowned as elves he had grown up with took a step back, eyes wary and, in most cased, filled with awe as the Dalish elves walked within their domain. The young former alienage elf had hoped someone would approach them. His dismay was tenfold as he took in just how rundown the alienage appeared now as compared to when he had left just over a year prior. The elves they passed appeared thinner, paler, and warier than ever. Wondering what had happened during his absence, the youngest of the trio led the others, knowing that there would be at least one or two other elves who would be able to answer their questions.

They entered the mouth into the alienage common, the Vhenadahl tree standing as majestically as ever. He paused to stare at the ancient tree with reverence, awaiting the awe to fill the eyes of his companions. He was, therefore, greatly disappointed as the pair barely glanced at the majestic Tree of the People, their eyes scanning the crowd within. With a sigh, he turned, adding his own sight, smiling widely as his blue eyes fixed upon a familiar head of bright red.

DA:O

"I am uncertain I wish to face her at this moment," Loghain muttered as Fergus showed him to the study.

His fellow Teyrn nodded his head, gaze moving toward the window, outwards to the neglected gardens, wherein the giant, the Sten, sparred with Ser Roland, the giant's marvelous greatsword smashing with ringing violence upon the knight's griffon emblazoned shield. Just at the perimeter of the gardens stood the blond elven assassin, conversing quietly with both male mages, the dark haired one standing closer to the elf than did the blond. Turning, he fixed his dark gaze upon the elder man, noting the lines of worry and concern that stood out prominently upon his sharp, haggard features.

"The sooner the two of you speak, Loghain…" Fergus had begun, cut off by a slightly raised hand and the barest of nods from his fellow.

Taking a breath, Fergus asked, "I can get her and bring her here for the two of you to speak?"

Shaking his head, Loghain turned toward the door. "Perhaps it would be best if I speak with her privately."

Fergus frowned. "You don't think that she deserves to be advised you wish to speak with her?" His voice was heavy with concern for the young elf he had come to admire and knew he could call a friend. "It just seems like she's being ambushed…again."

Loghain blinked at his companion's blunt words, but nodded in agreement. "Perhaps a little warning would be in order."

With a nod, Fergus turned to the door. "I will go up and tell her you are here. And let her decide if she wishes to speak with you."

Loghain watched as the younger noble left the room, and then turned back toward the window, eyes fixed upon the warriors sparring, but not truly watching. A few moments later, Fergus returned and Loghain turned from the window to face the younger lord.

Fergus nodded, meeting the other at the door, pushing it open and directing him to the stairs. "She agrees to meet with you. Her rooms are on the next level, third door to the left." He then reached out and placed a hand upon Loghain's forearm. The elder looked up, a question in his eyes. "She appears exhausted. Just…take care."

Nodding his thanks, the tall figure of the Teyrn of Gwaren made his way to the stairs, climbing them slowly, an air of sorrow swallowing his form as he climbed the stairs.

Frowning deeply, Fergus turned back to the study, stepping to the bar to pour himself a brandy. Eyes fixed upon the smoky liquid, he listened to the footsteps as the elder man climbed upwards, eyes closing as the sound of a fist upon wood resounded, echoing in his mind as he brought the glass to his lips.

DA:O

Riordan passed through the gathered camps of the dwarves, Dalish, Chasind and Wolves as he made his way back into Denerim. He kept his ears and eyes open, nodding as he passed by, offering greetings to those who called out to the Grey Warden. Just before leaving the perimeter of the gathered, he turned, his dark eyes taking in the numerous warriors that spanned the area, taking over and flanking deeply into the surrounding forest.

These armies that Adela Tabris had gathered to defeat the Blight.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Amazement still overtook the senior Grey Warden as he considered how two recruits – one only a Grey Warden for barely six months before Ostagar, the other a raw recruit just passed her Joining – had managed to gather not only upon the traditional treaties, but others who owed no allegiances to the Grey Wardens – or Ferelden, for that matter – whatsoever.

Now he wondered if his plans should not be altered as he pondered whether these armies would follow any other but Adela.

He wondered this, not from his own imaginings, but from the various gathered conversations he had happened by. Interspersed with strategy discussions, war room planning and general getting to know the diverse groups gathered within a relatively small space were praises for the young elven Warden who had gathered them there in the first place. The respect that rang out at the mention of Adela's name was obvious.

And not because she was a Grey Warden.

Whatever she had done to gain the loyalty of these groups surpassed any call to honor an ancient treaty.

Turning, he resumed his march back to Denerim.

His plans may have to be altered; however, he could not ignore the fact that Adela Tabris was no longer a Grey Warden.

DA:O

It was only the shifting of the bed that alerted her that someone stood beyond the closed door to her chamber. Haftner rose, a slight growl turning up the lips of his great maw, large, brown eyes fixed upon the entryway. With a slight whine, his head tilted slightly as footsteps beyond shifted slightly. Adela raised a hand to her mabari's head, watching as the great beast shifted towards the edge of the bed and jumped to the floor. Taking his cue from his mistress, the great war hound took his position at the doorway.

A tentative knock sounded upon the door's wood and, with a heavy sigh, Adela straightened her wrinkled clothes – breeches and tunic of green and brown – and stepped to the door.

She was grateful Fergus had come to her, asking if she wished to speak with Loghain. It had seemed as though so much had been taken out of her hands that this small gesture meant a great deal to her. She opened the door and opened her mouth to speak a greeting to the man who stood at the threshold.

Her voice caught as she blinked up into the weary and ragged features of her lifelong friend. The man she had had a crush on as a child; the man who had, in many ways – whether willing or not - shaped the events of her life.

"Adela," he spoke her name quietly, even more tentatively than his knock had been. Sapphire blue eyes scanned his features, watching as a multitude of emotions raced upon the hard planes of his face: sorrow, weariness, wariness, concern…fear.

With a deep breath, she reached out and took his hand, pulling him into her chambers. The great war hero glanced down upon her tiny hand, tightening his grasp upon it, and stepped uncertainly into her room and watched as she turned and closed the door behind them.

Silence reigned for many moments, both staring down at their clasped hands, uncertainty heavy within both hearts. Loghain knew that the young woman before him should be angry – angry at the current circumstance that had deprived her of her freedom, home, family and friends, and now, most recently, her husband. She should be livid at him for supporting Alistair's rise to the throne. He was surprised, then, when he felt her thumb move along his large, gnarled hand, rubbing circles along the side of his thumb. Looking carefully into her face, he watched as those large eyes filled with unshed tears as she blinked, staring down upon their hands.

"Adela," he tried again, his voice catching with his own sorrow. His sorrow at the loss of so many lives due to his weakness against the blood mage; his sorrow at the loss of his daughter, the loss of the innocence of the girl he had known since birth. The daughter of one of his dearest friends, someone he had…loved as much as he had loved Maric and Rowan.

Those devastated eyes rose, capturing his heart with the sheer volume of grief that flooded them. She blinked, and a single tear beaded and rolled from her eye, trailing down one tanned cheek, stopping at the slightly pointed chin.

Raising his free hand, Loghain wiped the tear away. "I am sorry," he finally voiced, finding the words insignificant and unworthy of what the girl had gone through this past year.

She nodded, pulling her hand free of his, and turned away. Haftner whined, moving to his mistress's side, and Loghain's attention slipped to the great war beast, watching as the dog bumped its massive head against the girl's hip, prompting a slender hand to rest upon its crown.

"That is a marvelous hound you have there," the Teyrn spoke, wanting to fill the silence that had risen, uncomfortable and stifling, within the chamber.

The elf nodded, continuing to pet the dog's head, a small smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "He has been a loyal friend," she whispered, Haftner pushing harder against her hip in response to her words. Taking in a deep breath, she turned back to her old friend, eyes fixed once again upon his face.

"Loghain," she started, frowning slightly. "I…know that Ferelden needs a ruler. That…Alistair…" her voice faltered. When Loghain took a step nearer her, she took an equal step back, keeping the distance between them constant. The Teyrn frowned at the move, but stood still, understanding the girl's need at the moment.

"I am sorry for the way it came about," he murmured. "No one truly believes the allegations he spat…"

She shook her head, denying his words. "No, Loghain. I don't need for you to lie for me." Lids closed over those eyes, and she gave a slight shake of her head. "I'm not even really certain what his allegations are." Her head tilted downward slightly, not a show of defeat, but one more of thought. "I knew he was jealous of Roland when they were both…" she shrugged, "vying for my attention. But I thought I had made it clear that he was who I love." She turned away. "I just never suspected…" A shake cleared her thoughts and stopped her words, and Loghain frowned deeply as she gathered her emotions and thoughts.

Raising her head, eyes open, she gave a slight shrug. "I am sorry about Anora." Her voice cracked at the naming of her friend, tears anew filling her eyes. "I wish I had been more able to defend her…"

Loghain would hear none of it. He raised a hand, a silent plea for her to cease that direction of self-condemnation. "All that has happened, since Ostagar to the Landsmeet, can be placed firmly upon my shoulders," Loghain remarked, his voice heavy with grief and guilt.

"That's not true!" Adela spat, anger coloring her words, causing her eyes to narrow and dry the tears. "It was that blood mage…"

"A mage – a child of Maric - whose very existence I knew of," Loghain finished for her. "And kept hidden away."

Adela blinked, confusion crinkling her brow as she stepped back.

"You…knew?" she asked, frowning up at her friend, who nodded as he turned away to gather his own thoughts.

"Yes," he replied after a moment's silence, head bowed, shoulders slumped slightly in a manner Adela had never seen before in her friend.

"I knew of both of Maric's illegitimate sons." He turned back to Adela, noting the surprise that set fully upon her face. "The blood mage, Arawn, was the middle son," he sneered those words out, anger at his friend for his indiscretion against Rowan seeping into his body language and words. "Younger than Cailan by a few months." He shook his head. "The mage sought revenge, thinking that Maric had known of his existence and that it was he who had place him in the Circle when he and his mother had tried to meet with him." The anger quickly left the man's body, shoulders slumping once more as he continued to face the young elf.

"What happened?"

Sighing heavily, Loghain paced to the left, a hand at his brow. "I learned of their plans to try and get Maric to acknowledge the boy," the frown deepened. "I made certain Maric never learned of the boy's existence. It was I who sent the Templars after the pair. The boy's mother was killed in the exchange. When Arawn escaped the circle, he sought vengeance for her death and his imprisonment."

The man fell silent as Adela pondered his words. "You sought to protect Maric," she whispered.

"And Ferelden," Loghain finished. "Had word gotten out that Maric had another son, mere months younger than Cailan, those who were his enemy or the enemy of Ferelden would have sought to use the boy to their own purposes. And cause harm to our country."

Shaking her head, turning her back to her friend, Adela replied. "It would seem that harm had occurred regardless of your intentions."

The words spoken were not meant to be unkind or to inflict pain, spoken as they were in her soft voice. Yet they were honest in their assessment, and Loghain could not deny them. The honesty of the words penetrated his heart, the weight of it bowing his head.

Nodding, Loghain stepped toward the girl, who remained facing away from him. "My desire to protect Ferelden caused all of this."

Adela took a breath, deep and lung filling, letting it out slowly between her lips. With a quick nod of her head, she turned back to face her anguished friend. "You gave the mage a reason for what he had done. But, I think that someone like him would have found a reason – any reason – to try and gain the power he sought." Loghain moved to speak, but she held up a hand. "Yes, your actions brought all of this upon us. If that is what you want to think, so be it." Her voice was hard, and Loghain flinched, despite how he agreed with her opinion. "But it was Arawn who choose to act out of anger and malice, who turned to blood magic to seek vengeance. Not every mage who enters the Circle enters peacefully. Yet not every mage seeks harm upon those who had placed them there. And certainly not against any innocents, as Arawn had."

Shaking his head, Loghain moved to argue with her, but the elf would have none of it. Anger now fueled her words…anger at her friend, at the mage, at Alistair. All of the pain and sacrifice made during the more than thirteen months they had been fighting against Loghain, Arawn and the Blight was taking its toll.

"Take your share of the blame, Loghain," she remarked, staring up into his eyes. Then, her voice softened. "But _only_ your share."

Loghain stared down at her for a moment before shaking his head. "Adela…"

"By your logic, Loghain," she said softly, "then the people truly to blame would be Maric and Arawn's mother. Had they not…ah…gotten together, Arawn would never have been born."

"That makes no sense, Adela," Loghain gently chided her.

A blonde brow quirked up, but there was no amusement in those eyes. "It makes just as much sense as you shouldering all of the blame." Came her quick retort.

Silence fell again, this time with Loghain searching the face of the girl he had thought he had known. There was a strength in her he had never noticed before, a determination that bordered upon hardness that seemed wrong, knowing how gentle a soul the girl truly was. "How did you become so wise?" He finally asked, watching as her eyes closed and head tipped forward.

"I'm not wise," she finally replied, giving a slight shrug of uncertainty, tipping her head so that he could not see her face nor look into her eyes. "I've just seen…a lot during this past year. Things I had never dreamed existed, things I wish I had never seen." There was a shudder, and Loghain had to wonder exactly what horrors the girl had been exposed to during her tenure as a Grey Warden. "There is enough pain, enough you will have to make up for, without your starting to second guess everything you do from this point on out."

"Like supporting Alistair's rise to the throne," Loghain's voice was even softer, concern for the girl evident.

The flinch that crossed her face told him he was right. Her whispered "Yes," confirmed it even more.

"I am sorry for that, Adela," he moved closer, wanting to put his arms around her slender form, somehow knowing that, at this time it would be unwelcome.

Her response was a mere nod and the turning away yet again.

"I take it the Landsmeet confirmed him as king?" she asked, her voice very small, fragile, and Loghain felt renewed anger flood him as he watched her.

"Yes."

She nodded, simply once, and said nothing for another moment. Taking a breath, finally, she turned around, the tension that held Loghain's body rigid easing as she met his eyes. "He will make a good king," she said.

Loghain stared at the girl, frowning. "Provided he does not allow Eamon to pull his strings," the Teyrn could not help but spit out. To his surprise, the elf nodded her agreement.

"I don't know what part Eamon played in this," Adela's voice regained that hard edge, and Loghain found himself frowning – again – at the uncharacteristic hardening of her eyes. "But I am certain he had something to do with Alistair's setting me aside as he did."

"If events still occurred as they did," Loghain's voice faltered, tears threatening from behind his eyes as his thoughts rested upon his daughter. He continued. "Would you have stepped aside for Alistair to ascend the throne?"

There was silence, heavy and uncertain. With a sigh, Adela shrugged her shoulders. "I want to say that yes, I would." She turned back to her friend, and he saw the uncertainly in her eyes. "But, I honestly don't know. I loved him…" she shook her head, clearing her throat. "I love that idiot. I had thought we would spend the rest of our lives together – for however long that would be. But, now…" her voice trailed off.

"If it means anything, I think you would have done the right thing," Loghain offered.

Blue eyes snapped up, anger and heat in them. "Really? The right thing, Loghain? Giving up the man I love would have been the 'right thing'?"

Ice blue eyes narrowed. "For Ferelden?" Loghain gritted back. "Yes."

"Always for Ferelden," it was almost a whisper. She had to reign in her anger. Ferelden was starting to mean less to her, and she knew that it was simply her hurt and anger making her feel this way. She was surprised by the resentment that flooded her very being, astonished at just how much she wanted to lash out at the man before her. It wasn't his fault. She truly believed that. But, right at this moment, he was presenting himself perfectly as a target for her ire.

It was unfair, however, and she turned away, going to her knees to hug Haftner close to her. She knew it was a vulnerable move, as a child seeking comfort in a well-loved doll or pet. But, she found she didn't care. She _was_ vulnerable; hurt and angry; had no parent to turn to, her cousins each having to deal with their own sorrows and hurts; her friends…well, she did not feel comfortable in turning to them.

And, Loghain had lost as much as she had. He had been victim as well, more of a victim than any others in this convoluted mess. She could not – would not – turn to him for comfort, either. Not with that knowledge of his pain, or with the anger currently twisting her heart and emotions.

Some may say it was justice that Loghain had suffered as he had, having unleashed a blood mage's power and madness upon Ferelden. Adela chose not to see it that way.

Face buried in Haftner's shoulder, she asked in a voice muffled, "What did the Landsmeet decide regarding you?"

If he was surprised by the change of subject and the girl's demeanor, Loghain did an admirable job in hiding it. "I am to remain as general of Ferelden's armies."

There was another pause.

"And me?"

The question was hesitant. Frowning heavily, Loghain reached down, grasping hold of Adela's upper arm and pulling her up. Turning her to face him, she raised her face to his. "You are the Warden Commander of Ferelden," he said, his voice strong. "You have gathered your allies and armies to assist in our fight against the Blight." A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "As Grey Wardens always do."

Chuckling without humor, she shook her head. "You've never trusted the Grey Wardens."

Smirking slightly, Loghain responded, "No," he agreed, "However, I do trust _you_."

She blinked, and the tension she had felt eased from her. "So…" she didn't know how to phrase her question. For the most part, throughout the year, she had been relying upon the treaties to get those sworn to the Wardens to do their part. For other allies, she had run errands, performed quests or simply relied upon others within her sphere of friends for their own skills in garnering said allies. Now that she had them…

"You and I, with the commanders of each division, will coordinate the armies gathered," that smile widened more, and he placed a hand to her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "I am impressed, by the way, Adela." Her brow crinkled slightly at his words. "The armies you have gathered – the dwarves, Dalish, mages and Templars…Chasind and other warriors…" he smiled. "Rather reminds me of Maric when we fought the Orlesians."

The smile that crossed her face was genuine. "Really?" her voice was almost childlike at the praise.

Chuckling, Loghain gave in to his urge to hug the girl. "Yes," he said, his rumbling chest shaking the young elf in his arms. "Maric had a way of impressing people to do what was right, even when he, at times, seemed to forget that."

Shaking her head, she pulled away. "I don't recall Mother ever stating that Maric ever impressed her," she laughed, forcing the anger and sorrow down for a moment to just enjoy the memories of her mother and King Maric.

Loghain's features softened at the mention of Adaia. "Your mother," he paused, the smile on his face softening with memory. "Your mother may never have admitted it, but she did care about Maric. He just had a tendency to grate upon her nerves."

Adela sighed, stepping away from Loghain, but maintaining a comfortable nearness to him. "I wish Mother had told me more of her time during the Rebellion."

Eyes fixed upon the young elf, Loghain quietly agreed. "Your mother," Loghain's voice threatened to break with the sudden emotion that welled within him. "was always of a mind that each step in a person's life should be lived separately from the rest. She had been a warrior of the Dalish. When she chose to join the war against the Orlesians, she became a warrior of Ferelden. Once that goal had been accomplished, she made the decision to remain in Denerim to be with your father, as simply an elf."

He smirked as Adela's raised a brow. "Oh, she still retained her Dalish pride. There is no denying that. But she recognized each event as a different chapter in her life. I think that perhaps she kept silent of her time fighting at our sides because that time didn't help anything that she was dealing with. She was a champion for the elves in the Alienage," He paused, a smile upon his face, his rough voice soft. "and a better champion the elves could never have asked for."

"I know she knew Duncan," Adela offered, watching her friend as he slipped into memory, wondering what exactly he was thinking of as he considered her mother.

Loghain nodded. "Went on some fool adventure, helping the Grey Wardens mere months after your birth." He confirmed, his smile slipping somewhat, eyes dimming as his mind fell into memory. "She was changed when she returned," there was a hint of sorrow in his voice, "And never spoke of what happened during those weeks she was gone."

Loghain was startled from his reverie when Adela placed a small hand upon his forearm. "Thank you, Loghain," she whispered, her other hand upon Haftner's head. "I appreciate you coming here to speak with me."

"Honestly, I was uncertain what I could possibly say that would make any difference to you," the man admitted, his eyes fixed upon Adela's face.

A shrug answered his comment. "I didn't know how to feel when I saw you at the door," the elf said, eyes shifting to the side. "I just feel so…well," she scrubbed the heels of her palms over her eyes, "tired for the most part. Anger is in there, but mostly, I just want this all over." She tipped her head down. "I want Father back and safe, with the others. I want Anora here, telling us all what we need to hear, just as she always had. I want to hear Cailan's laugh again… I just…" she lifted her head, the sorrow once more heavy in those eyes, and Loghain found himself wishing for the brief moment of laughter the pair had found mere moments before. "want." She finished.

Head bowed, Loghain stepped forward and pulled the girl into another loose embrace. He felt her small hands at his back, and he nodded. "As do we all, kiddo."

The pair remained standing in their embrace for a few more moments, breaking apart at the knock that resounded at her door. Smiling softly up into Loghain's face, Adela moved away, opening the door to Wynne's kindly face.

"Ah, child," her eyes went to Loghain briefly before returning to rest upon Adela's face, concern quite clearly marking her matronly features. "There's a messenger from the alienage downstairs, asking to speak with you."

Glancing over at Loghain, Adela patted her hip, bringing her mabari to her side. "Thank you, Wynne," she said softly as Loghain stepped from her room, and followed the pair of women downstairs.

DA:O

Alistair paced his chambers, scowling impotently at the door to his chambers. The Landsmeet had confirmed him as king. The coronation would have to wait until the Blight had been dealt with. Despite the lack of ceremony, he was now king.

And never before had he felt as lost and alone as he did at this moment.

The Landsmeet, as they faced down the blood mage, seemed a blur, remembered only as one could recall a distance past event. The events were unclear, barely tangible now. However, the hurt in Adela's eyes he could quite clearly see.

What had made him say such things to her…? Even those reasons seemed unclear to his still befuddled memory.

A soft knock resounded upon his chamber's door and the young king turned, calling out for whoever stood beyond to enter. He watched as the door swung open and Eamon stepped through, his gray hair combed back and held from his face in two small braids, his clear gray eyes fixed upon the younger man within. He seemed to take note of Alistair's frown and stepped nearer the young man.

"Is something on your mind, Alistair?" Eamon asked, his voice quiet as his eyes searched Alistair's face.

Scrubbing a large hand across his face, Alistair turned away from Eamon, breaking the connection of gray eyes to amber. He missed the frown that creased the elder man's features, but felt a hand upon his shoulder, urging him to turn about.

Giving in to the unspoken demand, Alistair turned, eyes fixing once more to the Arl's.

"I'm just…thinking…"

"And worrying," Eamon finished with a slight smile, his eyes holding Alistair's own in a powerful gaze.

"It's just…am I really ready to be king?" Alistair asked, his eyes remaining held by Eamon's gaze. "And, what I said to Adela…" he shook his head, yet seemed unable to break from the other man's gaze. "I just…"

"Easy, Alistair," Eamon's smile softened. "Perhaps you were a bit…harsh with Mistress Tabris," He conceded, causing Alistair to flinch visibly. "However, you are meant to be king. You have the ability and skills, Alistair," he said kindly, offering that smile as a grimace crossed the younger man's face. "You are simply in need of experience and proper guidance for you to truly lead our nation as you should."

The grimace deepened to a frown, and Alistair shook his head. "If how I handled Adela is any indication of my kingliness…" he began, but Eamon cut him short with a sharp shake of his graying head.

"Nonsense," he admonished, gripping Alistair about one shoulder. "The girl…ah…Adela is a strong young woman. And she understands politics better than most in her…position," Alistair's frown waivered. "She was, after all, a close friend with both Anora and Cailan. She knows her place. And, unfortunately, it cannot be at your side."

Amber eyes broke the penetrating stare of those gray eyes, and Alistair turned away, unaware of the frown that creased Eamon's face. "Still doesn't make me feel any better," the young man mumbled as he turned his stare unseeingly toward the window.

With a heavy sigh, a hand fell to his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Usually, a worthy goal does make one uneasy, especially when one has ascended to greatness in such a sudden manner."

Back and shoulders stiffening, a moment of rebelliousness overcame the former Warden. Turning only very slightly, eyes shifting to the peripheral, Alistair quipped out, "Especially when that 'one' has been told repeatedly how…unworthy he is of that position."

Eamon blinked, scowling slightly as the young king turned his back more fully to his former foster-father. Taking a breath, he gave a curt nod to the still turned back. "I'll return later, Alistair, and, with luck, you shall be in a clearer minded mood." He turned to the door, glancing back to take note that Alistair had not turned back toward him. "I shall see you for this evening's meal."

Without acknowledging him, Alistair stood, listening for the door to close firmly behind him. Only once Eamon had left did his mind clear once more and he blinked rapidly, and continued to stare out the window.

This time, not quite as unseeing as just a moment prior.

DA:O

Tips of fingers lightly brushed along her brow as she followed Wynne down the stairs, Haftner at her side, Loghain slightly behind. His presence was comforting, familiar. She realized that he and Alistair were about the same height, and she startled, realizing that having the familiar size behind her added to her feeling of comfort and, more importantly, safe. Tears prickled at her eyes again as she realized that it was an illusion; Alistair would no longer walk beside or slightly behind her again. He had believed whatever lies had been whispered in his ears. He no longer loved nor wanted her.

Suddenly, all she wanted to do was run headlong back into her chamber, messenger from the alienage or not. Again, she was being childish. And, yet again, she did not care. She wanted to be childish right now, to wallow in whatever self-pity she could. Her friends would allow her a moment of such, she was certain. Just the manner with which Wynne, even now, glanced over her shoulder to the younger woman told Adela that much. She could see how elder mage's hands would twitch slightly, as though she wanted to grasp hold of something; the slight twitter of her lips whenever she glanced toward the elf, concern and motherly affection shining brightly in those clear, blue eyes.

To feel those comforting arms about her shoulders, to allow her a place to lay her head and give out a good cry…those fingers stilled, moving down to rub at her eyes. She missed the concern with which Wynne watched her, moving blindly down the stairs and to the entryway where the elf from the alienage awaited.

The nearly crippling self-pity dissipated at the sight of the young elven man that stood, leaning against the wall, dark red hair shining starkly against the clean white of the walls. A smirk crossed his handsome, pale features as he straightened and moved toward the other.

"Adela," Soris pulled the girl forward and into his arms, long, slender hands brushing into her hair as she buried her face into his shoulder. Wynne gave a look to Loghain and steered him toward the study, where Fergus remained.

"What are you doing here?" Adela's muffled voice asked, her face remaining buried in her cousin's shoulder as he continued to pat at her head.

The bluest of eyes closed slightly as the elder cousin took in the sorrow and defeat he heard in his cousin's voice. "We've visitors to the alienage," he replied before kissing Adela upon one exposed temple. She pulled back, looking up into her cousin's still far-too-pale face, smiling slightly as he smiled down at her.

"Visitors?" She asked, voice small and strained. "But, why would they send you…? You're still recovering."

Chuckling, he pulled her in for a quick hug before releasing her, grasping her hand to pull her toward the door. "I needed air," he offered simply. When Adela did not move with him, he turned, sighing deeply. "I am feeling better, Cousin," he offered simply. "Shianni is busy entertaining our guests, and I just really wanted to be the one to drag you home."

Adela blinked up at him, unable to prevent her smile from widening at him. 'Home' certainly did sound good at this moment.

Soris's smile faltered slightly, his dark blue eyes turning serious for a moment. "We heard about…well, that we have a new king," he started, his speech uncertain, especially as he watched his cousin's pretty smile fall. Stepping nearer her, he gave her a kiss on the forehead, rubbing a thumb along the lines that formed there. "I'm sorry," he whispered, understanding her sorrow.

Nodding, she looked up. "You said something about taking me home and visitors?" She prompted, wanting to just give up this feeling of helplessness and deal with something that seemed far more enjoyable.

A dark brow twitched slightly, the corner of his mouth turning up in a familiar lopsided grin. "Yup. So, grab your cloak, and let's get goin'. Shianni's very excited about this!"

Sparing a glance over her shoulder, Adela turned back to her cousin. "C'mon," she said, this time being the one pulling on the other cousin. "I don't need a cloak. Let's just go."

Smirking at her sudden impatience, Soris quickstepped around her, opened the door and, with an exaggerated bow to his now famous cousin, led her out into the streets and back to the alienage.

DA:O

Shianni's bright red hair gleamed in the sun, catching the attention of one of the alienage's Dalish visitors. Theron smiled over at the younger elf, watching as she chatted animatedly with Pol.

"I just can't believe you actually found them!" the girl exclaimed, hands flailing about as she spoke to a much quieter Pol. "Your brother…"

"How is Taeodor?" the young blond asked as Shianni paused, her complexion paling slightly at how she had referenced Pol's elder brother.

Theron had noticed the change in the girl's demeanor, and stepped forward, concern marring his heavily tattooed features.

"Shianni?" Pol insisted, gripping the now still girl's arm, "Where is Taeodor?"

Sniffling slightly, Shianni lifted pain ridden eyes to Pol's bright blues. "I'm so sorry, Pol. Slavers took Taeodor."

"Slavers…" Pol question, brows twisting in confusion. "How…?"

Taking a breath, Shianni's gaze slipped toward the alienage's gates, trying to wish the appearance of her brother and cousin. She had not meant to bring up Taeodor or any of what had happened recently in the alienage to Pol. Not now, not when there had been such a small thing to celebrate: Pol's return and Dalish visiting their alienage, fighting alongside Adela against the Blight.

But neither Soris nor Adela magically appeared before them, and she turned back toward the other elf.

"There has been a great deal that has happened since you left, Pol," Shianni began, stumbling over her words. She knew she was not the person to be speaking to Pol – or anyone – about this. She hadn't the words, the mannerism nor patience to do so. Either Soris or Adela were far more suited to this.

But neither of them was present. And she did not feel it right to leave Pol with questions.

And, so, she relayed how Bann Kendall's son, Vaughn, had interrupted Soris and Adela's wedding day; how the young noble had kidnapped several of the women, including Adela, for his own amusement. She skipped over how both she and Adela had been raped, how Nola had been killed how Nelaros had been captured.

She spoke of how Adela had become a Grey Warden, and watched with amusement as Pol's eyes widened in disbelief. She chuckled at that, admitting that she, too, had felt that Adela was possibly the worst person to choose to fight.

Then she told of how rumors had begun that a plague had hit the alienage, and that the gates were henceforth shuttered against the rest of Denerim. The Tevinters arrived, claiming a cure, but, in truth, they turned out to be slavers, sanctioned by the Regent and his minions.

Theron and Junar listened, anger tightening their throats, watching as Pol's tanned complexion paled and fists tightened at his sides. Only when Shianni advised how Adela and others had survived the massacre at Ostagar and then returned, to rid the alienage of the slavers' influence did the Dalish elves relax their stance – if only slightly.

None of them noticed as a pair of blue eyed elves made their way to where their small huddle stood, beneath the Tree of the People. Shianni paused in her story telling, frowning as she contemplated what more needed to be said.

"It should be clarified that the Regent was under the influence of a blood mage," Adela called from the side, smiling at her cousin's slight flush as she looked up at her brother and cousin. With a side glance to Soris, Adela stepped forward, bowing her head slightly to the pair of Dalish warriors who watched her closely, then stepping to stand directly in front of Pol.

Her blue eyes searched the other elf's face, smiling at the slight changes she could see. He had matured, and even sported a scar along the side of his face. He was no longer pale, and seemed to have grown in the year he had been gone, his form now lithe with muscleture and maturity.

"It's good to see you again, Pol," Adela said warmly, and then turned toward the Dalish standing at their backs. "I am Adela Th…" She stopped there, frowning, "I am Adela Mahariel Tabris," she began again, her smile weaker than before, but still present. She missed Soris and Shianni's exchange of concerned glances over her head. "Warden Commander of Ferelden."

Smiling warmly, Theron stepped forward, bending an arm across his chest as he bowed deeply to the female elf. "This," he gestured toward Junar, "is Junar," the elf copied Theron's movements, adding a slight smile to the pretty blonde elven woman. "And I am Theron Mahariel. Both of Clan Sabrae."

Adela's eyes widened as Theron introduced himself. "Mahariel?" She asked, her voice small with awe.

Smirking, Theron nodded. "I understand your mother was once of our clan."

"Yes," Adela replied, "My mother was Adaia Mahariel."

The smile upon Theron's face widened. "I believe I met her when I was a babe," he said, stepping nearer to the girl. "My foster mother, Ashalle, told me that I met my aunt when I was just a fledgling."

"Aunt?" Adela's smile widened. "So, that means you and I are cousins?"

"Truly," Theron glanced around the alienage, trying hard not to show the disapproval upon his face at the rundown appearance of the place. He did not wish to insult his cousin and her kin. "I had hoped to meet Aunt Adaia's child when I came to Denerim. I had no idea she was the very same Grey Warden Commander that had gathered the People to battle the Blight."

The young Warden flushed with pleasure at the praise. "I am certain my mother would be more than pleased that her people were present when the Archdemon is defeated."

At those words, Theron threw his head back, his dark, curly hair tickling along his shoulders as he let out a great laugh. Junar and Pol exchanged wide grins as the other elves merely looked at the strange elf as it he had lost his mind.

"You should be a Keeper, Adela!" Theron praised the girl when his merriment eased. "For certainly your words could lead even the most xenophobic of our people to battle beside the humans."

Feeling completely at ease with her wild cousin, Adela stepped back, hip back as she crossed her arms before her chest. "What?" she asked, a teasing quality to her voice that had both Shianni and Sori smiling. "Don't you believe that the People would battle the Blight regardless of whom they fight beside?"

Meeting her gaze with his own dark stare, Theron's smile remained. "In all honesty, I believe that, had the Grey Wardens not secured a treaty, many of my people would simply pick up camp and move beyond Ferelden's borders."

Beside him, Junar nodded his head sagely, while Pol simply stared at the man who had become, in many ways, his idol. A thoughtful frown crossed Adela's face at her Dalish cousin's words, but she found that she could not dispute his statement. The Dalish, on the whole, felt they owed nothing to humans. And, they would view Ferelden as a human land. The clans had no place they could call their own. Why would they willingly give up their lives for a land that, not only was not theirs but made them as unwelcome as possible?

She said as much to her cousin, who merely nodded his head in reply. After a moment, she raised her head, eyes scanning, taking in the alienage that had been her home for most of her life. She found herself feeling a little nostalgic, missing the closeness she had grown up with. Turning back to her cousin, childhood friend and their companion, she gave them a wide smile.

"How about we three," she pointed toward Shianni and Soris, and back to herself, "give you a tour of the alienage?"

Pol smirked over at the girl. "I doubt it's changed that much in the year I've been gone," he replied.

"True," Adela nodded. "But, you are now Dalish, Pol. It would be rude not to show you around and invite you for an evening meal."

Pol's smirk widened into a smile as the elven Warden confirmed his Dalish state. Glancing at his companions, who were nodding their approval, Pol fell in by Theron's side as the other three elves began their tour of his childhood home.

DA:O

After leaving Alistair's chambers, the Arl of Redcliffe had made his way to his own set of rooms, just down the hall from the new king. A dark frown had formed upon his face, smoky gray eyes turning once to glare down the hall as he opened the door to his chambers.

DA:O

_I seldom put an author's note at the end, but I felt the need to at this time. I had meant for this chapter to be longer and filled with war time preparations. However, everyone got speaking at me, and this is what happened instead. *cheeky grin*_


	77. Chapter 77

_Ah, hello? *knock* I certainly hope that there's someone there, reading this. So sorry for the overly long delay. I have good excuses – life changing events during these past few months. I'll not go into detail, but say that I appreciate that I've still been receiving alerts, follows and favorites, even though it may seem like an abandoned story._

_So, my thanks, as always, to those who read, alert/favorite, and most especially review: Wyl, artilyon-rand, Shakespira, Kawaibentou, MemoriesoftheForgottenGuardian, csorciere, Legionary Prime…my eternal thanks._

_It's short…but, better than nothing (right? *sigh* I hope so)…Now, on to…_

_The Halla Reborn_

_Chapter 77_

Preparations were underway, keeping Logain, Fergus, Alistair and the nobles busily engaged within the halls of the Great Chamber as they coordinated their collected armies.

Dwarves, the Dalish, Chasind and the Wolves tightened their borders around Denerim, interweaving their warriors amongst the various camps, minds and bodies focused upon the preparing for war, even as eyes turned ever upwards, blinking and squinting at the continuing darkness that roiled above.

The elves within the alienage had been armed with bow and blade, completely ignoring those relatively few citizens that cried afoul at such a move. Despite the urgency of the situation, there were those who protested the move, and were quickly quieted by a mere look – hard and focused – delivered by the Warden Commander herself when she emerged from the gated walls of the alienage, having spent the majority of the past few days training the denizens within in weaponry.

Those who protested fell silent, and went back to their lives, worrying more over the Blight, and less of the armed elves within the city's walls.

DA:O

"No," Adela frowned deeply, shaking her head as she stepped around the senior warden, her arms crossing before her chest as she scowled out the open window.

"Think on it, Adela," Riordan insisted, stepping behind the young elf, a frown of his own forming upon his rugged features. "I have scouted the area, put an ear to the ground, as it were. The Archdemon's army is heading for Redcliff."

With a heavy sigh, Adela turned to face the foreign warden. Roland and Niall, standing off to the side, exchanged concerned glances as the two faced one another.

"Why would the Archdemon send it's armies to Redcliff? It makes no sense," the elf insisted, turning her scowl to her friends, who merely shrugged back at her.

"Reason matters not when taking the darkspawn into consideration, Adela," Riordan reaffirmed, earning a dark scowl from both Roland and Niall at his continued use of their commander's first name.

"Darkspawn, sure," Adela conceded. "But _not_ the Archdemon." She turned away, rubbing a long fingered hand to her forehead. "I saw the beast, Riordan. In the Deep Roads." She shivered at the memory as she turned back to the senior. "Met its eyes. The intelligence…the malignant intelligence therein…" she stopped, hugging herself tightly. Raising her eyes, she fixed the human with her penetrating gaze. "It's going to send its forces to Denerim, and not waste its strength against a target that offers no strategic value."

"Adela…" the warden from Orlais began, but this time, Roland interrupted.

"Why are you calling the Commander by her given name?" the junior warden asked, his frown mirrored by the warden mage at his side. The redhead took a small step forward, body rigid, hands clenching at his sides. Riordan and Adela both turned toward the man, a confused frown upon the elf's face while Riordan glared at the younger man. "She is the Warden Commander of Fereldan, after all, and deserves the respect she has earned."

Sighing, rubbing long, gnarled fingers to his eyes, Riordan turned away from the former knight. "I feel it is…inappropriate to discuss such things at this time, Warden," he remarked as he turned his glare back toward the other man.

"I agree with Warden Gilmore," Niall interjected, his robes rustling softly as he took a step to stand beside his compatriot as he turned his soft brown eyes toward Adela. "It has not gone unnoticed by either of us, nor other members of our group, just how little…respect you have been showing our Commander. Especially in light of all she has accomplished while the main body of the Warden order sat behind Orlesian boundaries."

"Niall...Roland…" Adela began, hoping to turn the conversation back toward the disagreement she and Riordan was having just moments before.

However, Riordan took the moment to address the concerns of the two junior wardens. "No, Adela. They are correct. I have not been showing you the respect you deserve. And, for that, I sincerely apologize." The senior Grey Warden turned dark eyes toward the elf, fixing her with their penetrating gaze. "You have earned my respect – and the respect of all of us in the Order – for what you have accomplished. Especially when we take into consideration that you have very little guidance and training from Duncan prior to his death; that you had to learn everything on the fly, as it were. However," here he paused, frowning deeply. "However, I do not feel it appropriate to allow you to continue as Warden Commander."

This declaration brought an immediate response of disapproval from both Fereldan wardens. Adela, however, stared at the Warden from Jader, her eyes thoughtful, face otherwise neutral.

"May I ask why?" she asked, feeling certain she knew what the response would be.

Taking a deep breath, stepping forward and placing two large hands upon the slender shoulders of the girl, Riordan replied, "We cannot allow one who is not a Grey Warden to lead as Warden Commander."

Adela did not react, although her stomach plummeted as a sick feeling came upon her. Riordan continued.

"I cannot sense you as I can the others," the warden turned toward Roland and Niall, both now openly glaring at the older male. "I know you took the Joining. I found Duncan's records. However, between that time and when we first met, the Taint…you somehow cured it from your blood. There are compelling reasons to…curtail your power as Warden Commander; to countermand many of the orders and actions you may take, now and in the future as we battle against the Blight."

"You can't replace her," Roland declared, hands clenching tighter as his right hand moved toward his sheathed blade.

"I agree," Riordan cut in quickly, not allowing Roland to continue his tirade. "While I have no doubt the Dwarves and mages would continue on to fight against the Blight, I am not quite as confident that the Dalish would. And, neither would the other…non-treaty groups you have gathered do so."

"So…what?" Niall asked, placing a calming hand upon Roland's forearm before stepping away to stand beside Adela. "Keep Adela on as a figurehead."

Nodding, Riordan glanced down at the elf. "That is precisely what I plan."

That declaration was followed by a full minute of silence as those few words settled in the minds of the three Fereldan Wardens. It was Adela who broke the silence.

"So, in other words, I keep the title as a show to our allies, but you are the one calling the shots, making the orders behind the scenes?"

Taking a moment to try and gauge the young elf, whose features had now completely shut down, offering him no insight into her thoughts process, Riordan finally responded.

"Yes."

"No," came the elf's immediate and sure reply.

A dark brow shot up. "No?"

"Simple word, that," Adela's response was snide, and her expression made no apologies for it. "I am the Warden Commander of Fereldan or I am not. I will not act as a figurehead to keep our allies in line while you make decisions that I feel are the wrong ones." She stood to her full, unimpressive height, back straight, head high and certain, blue eyes intense with her determination.

"Adela…" there was a warning tone in Riordan's voice, an attempt to intimidate the young elf as he took a meaningful step forward.

It was a truly show of just how little Riordan knew the elven woman he tried to cow into submission. Adela had grown up surrounded by powerful, determined and stubborn people. From her mother to Loghain to those very people she had gathered around her during the past year plus as she brought together those best suited to battle against the Blight.

This one warden, one who was quickly losing any respect she may have held for him earlier in their acquaintance, was not going to cow her, scare her from the course she knew was the correct one.

She had fought too long, too hard…given up far more than she had ever wanted to. She knew that her's was the correct course to follow.

There was a fear growing in her heart, however. Riordan knew she was no longer a Grey Warden. Whatever taint she had taken into her body was gone. She had known for some time; she was certain that the wardens she traveled with were aware of it as well, if the lack of surprise upon Niall and Roland's faces were any indication. What trouble could Riordan and the other Wardens cause her?

Shaking her blonde head to clear away those useless thoughts and concerns, another tactic came to mind.

"How about we compromise?"

DA:O

Adela's blue-eyed gaze swept over the gathered Dalish and Chasind warriors. Turning to her cousin, she quirked a blonde brow as her lips twisted upwards in a slight smirk. "Only seven?" she asked, glancing over as Pol and Junar chuckled at her.

Smiling broadly, Theron swept one arm out over his brethren. "Seven is a lucky number in Dalish culture," he remarked. "'Wisdom' shall follow my brothers and sisters as they journey to Redcliff, shall guide their actions, and deliver them back to us."

Shaking her head, she looked over at the Chasind, who numbered nine in number. Turning her gaze to where Apumayta stood tall, his greatsword strapped to his broad back, heavily muscled arms folded across his broad chest. "Nine?"

A chuckle rumbled deep within his barrel chest. "It is assurance that all nine of my warriors shall return, alive and victorious against their foe."

With a roll of her eyes, Adela turned her gaze to the Senior Warden, who stood slightly back, staring at the sixteen elven and Chasind warriors who were currently preparing for their dash to Redcliff.

The compromise Adela had suggested. Frankly, Riordan was unimpressed. However, the warden was also wise enough to understand that this was as good as he would get from the elf. She had proven far more stubborn than he had anticipated.

And pulling her from the forefront, declaring her unfit or unable to proceed as the Warden Commander was no longer an option.

If it had ever been one.

And so, he agreed. Sixteen Dalish and Chasind warriors would race to Redcliff, and determine the threat that the Archdemon and its darkspawn tide would present.

He only hoped that, once they arrived, the wilders would have sufficient time to make it back to Denerim to rally their forces back to Redcliff to battle against the Blight.

"This is a scouting mission," Adela's voice brought the man's attention back to those gathered. "Determine the threat posed by the darkspawn, evacuate any villagers possible. Do not," her tone was stark, commanding. "I repeat, do not engage the enemy. We need you all back here, alive, well and in one piece." Those words were met with humored chuckles and she shook her head at them.

Turning away with a shake of her head, she glanced to where the Wolves stood, tall and resolute, determined and disappointed. They had been chosen to follow the Dalish and Chasind to the outskirts of the King's Highway, but to proceed no further. It rankled many within the pack, as Redcliff had become their adopted home, and many of the fierce warriors were concerned over neighbors and friends that had remained behind.

"Swiftrunner," the bronze head turned toward the elf, "are your Wolves ready to protect the boundaries if necessary?"

Smirking wildly, the former werewolf nodded his shaggy head. "Always ready for a fight, Commander," his deep growl answered, echoed by his fellows, who growled deeply in their chests in reply. "If the elves or Chasind give out a help cry, we'll be on the dark bastards quicker than thought."

Smiling, Adela nodded. "I never doubted you or your pack, my friend."

A rumbling laugh responded to the elf's words. "I knew you were smarter than that, Commander! To recognize our prowess and determination!" Many within the ranks of the Wolves answered with deep laughter of their own, echoed by the Chasind and Dalish surrounding them.

Shaking her head, giving them all a nod, the elf stepped back as the three groups of the fiercest warriors to walk the forestways of Fereldan leapt to their feet, and rushed off, disappearing as shadows into the surrounding forest, the merest of rustling – certainly a farewell – following in their wake.

As the last vanished, the young Warden Commander turned back, stepping to her cousin's side as her knowing gaze fixed upon the unsettled figure of Riordan, who answered her gaze with a slight shake of his head.

How would less than two dozen warriors fare against the vast horde the senior warden was certain would greet them at the gates of Redcliff?


End file.
